Wild Card!
by Mahala
Summary: Elsa Rossi is back but it's not revenge that she wants! This story follows on from Rogue Element but is an unrelated story that uses characters from it's predecessor. See author note at beginning. Mostly Adam and Mac, Jo and Stella! COMPLETE.
1. Author Note

**Author's note **: this is a sequel to Rogue Element in which I introduced the following OC's: our resident villainess, Elsa Rossi, a disgraced former Interpol Lieutenant whose speciality is obtaining information and selling it the the highest bidder and who conveniently escaped capture in my previous story, and Stella's New Orleans team: Frank Mitford (Don Flack's homologue in the New Orleans P.D.), Lacey (Stella's right hand woman and resident computer expert) and Gabriel March (Trace and DNA ). There will of course be a whole host of new OC's in this story both friend and foe.

I would like to thank all who read and reviewed Rogue Element. I thank you for your comments and suggestions and I have endeavoured to include them all in this sequel as follows : Elsa gets her comeuppance (of course!), more Adam (done!), Stella and Jo working together again (done!), much more Adam (okay I get the picture!), more Mac whump/angst (seriously? people will think I'm a sadist with a Mac fixation! Okay done!) and Adam out of the lab! (done!)

**Warning:** Don/Sheldon/D/L/Sid fans – they only make cameos in this story! Sorry! It was too hard to work everyone into this fic but they will appear in another story soon. Promise!

**Disclaimer **: see my profile page. I don't own anything. This is fiction and yes I have taken a lot of liberties. Be prepared to suspend your disbelief. Hope that covers it! Enjoy!

**P.S.** Will try to update every other day. Reviews and PM's always welcome.


	2. Prologue

**PART ONE**

**Prologue**

Adam Ross sat on the small wooden chair in the stark cold office and looked down at the floor. His arms were resting on his knees with his hands clasped tightly together. To an observer it looked almost as though he was deep in prayer other than the fact that his right leg bounced incessantly. He felt sick. He tried to breathe in and out to calm his stomach and dispel the dread that was threatening to engulf him. He jumped slightly as the door behind him squeaked open despite the fact he was expecting her. He looked up. The tall, slim woman elegantly dressed in dark blue skirt, white blouse and white coat, with her grey hair drawn back in a chignon stared at him for a moment with a strange look on her face. Adam found her hard to read. He wasn't sure whether it was disapproval or pity he saw there, or was it something else? Compassion perhaps?

"Monsieur Ross?" She smiled a taught thin-lipped smile. "Please come with me." Adam shuddered at her words, the soft lisp of her 'th' making her sound exotic but also somehow a little sinister. He stood slowly and gritting his teeth, he followed her out of the office and down the high ceilinged corridor. He felt as though he was in another world, another time. The building was old but immaculately clean. The white walls were tinged with yellow from decades of repainting. The hard tiled floors despite being scratched and chipped from years of wear were freshly scrubbed and gave off a strong pine scent. Their footsteps echoed loudly as she led him to a solid grey door. She pulled a bunch of keys from a chain on her belt and opened the door. She gestured to him to go through. He waited for her while she locked the door behind him. As they passed a glass-fronted office, Adam noticed the two burly men dressed in white scrubs look up from the desk and stare at him. Their heads swivelled slowly watching his progress down the hall like eagles watching their prey. Adam looked left and right as they came to the first corridor but the corridors stretched away from him in empty silence. The woman walked on and turned to her right into a corridor with several closed doors. She stopped at the first one. Somewhere deep within the maze of corridors came a sudden scream and a voice could be heard shouting out, the words indistinct though the pain in them was all too real. Adam felt his pulse race but, as quickly as it started, it stopped leaving them in silence, the only sound left being that of the blood rushing in his ears.

"Are you ready?" asked the woman rolling her r slightly. Adam nodded. She pointed to a small rack. "You can leave your shoes there." Adam slipped off his shoes and placed them on the rack. He noticed a hook and he removed his coat as well, hanging it up carefully and transferring his mobile phone and his keys to the pocket. "I think I should warn you that the restraints are for his own good and for yours and we will remove them as soon as we possibly can." Adam looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"What?"

"You understand I cannot … I dare not ... give him anything until we have finished our analysis. I do not normally allow this but at the moment it is the only option." Her face looked pained and her eyes showed her sorrow. Adam frowned slightly not quite understanding what she was apologising for. "Now you remember what we talked about? You know what to do?"

Adam straightened up and took a deep breath. "I know what to do."

"Good." The woman smiled again. A wider smile and this time Adam could see the compassion there. "You will be fine." The keys rattled on the chain as she opened the door and stepped back to allow Adam to enter.

It didn't matter that they had spoken at length. All her explanations and her instructions flew out of his head the minute his feet touched the cushioned floor. He felt himself wobble as his body adjusted itself to the different sensation of the floor beneath his feet but in reality it was the figure huddled against the wall at the far side of the room that shocked him rooting him to the spot. Even though Adam couldn't see his face, he felt tears spring to his eyes. A surge of anger flooded through him at the sight of the bare feet, the thin white cotton trousers exposing his ankles, and the three wide leather buckles up the back of the jacket. Somehow it seemed barbaric, something from another century, not something that should be used in this modern era of science, progress, and enlightenment. It went against everything that he knew to be right. He turned around to protest but the door had already been closed behind him effectively locking him in the empty room. Adam looked up at the ceiling with its harsh light bulb encased in a metal cage high above him. He stared at the camera in the corner of the room above the door and knew instinctively that the two men he had passed were staring back at him.

Adam turned back to look at the man again and he took a few hesitant steps towards him but, as though sensing his presence, the figure raised his head showing his gaunt, grey, unshaven face, ruffled hair and wild red-rimmed eyes. Adam froze as their eyes met. Suddenly the man moaned and tried to push himself away, his eyes wild with fear. He back-pedalled, his heels slipping on the padded floor, pushing himself into the corner of the room as though to get as far away from Adam as possible. When he realized he could go no further as his back was pressed hard into the corner, he shut his eyes tight. Adam could just make out the words 'Not real. Not real. Not real.' as his forehead drew into a frown, a muscle working in his jaw indicating that his teeth were clamped tight together. Adam could hear the pain and the despair in those few words and that galvanized him into action.

Adam crossed the room in a few short steps. He dropped to his knees and grabbed the man on either side of his head. "Look at me," he said in a firm calm voice that belied the panic he felt inside. The man tried to shake his head. "Look at me. I'm here. It's all right. Open your eyes." The man seemed to pick up on the depth of feeling in the words and, albeit reluctantly, he opened his eyes. "It's me. Look. See. It's all right." Adam searched his eyes for that spark of recognition and his heart leapt as the man seemed to recognize him.

"A … dam?" he breathed. "I'm sorry. Oh God I'm so sorry."

Adam's throat constricted and he swallowed. "It's all right. I'm here. You see. Everything is all right."

"Please forgive me."

Adam shook his head. "There's nothing to forgive. I'm all right."

"No, I let them kill you. I am so sorry. Please say you forgive me. Please. Please forgive me."

Adam's heart shattered into a million pieces at the look of desperation on his face. Adam took a deep breath and did the only thing he could do. He pulled the man towards him and wrapped his arms around him cradling him against his chest as he would a small child. "It's all right Mac. I forgive you."


	3. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_Three weeks earlier._

"Okay, calm down." Mac looked around his staff gathered in the conference room. "Now as you know department rules have changed ..." There was a groan from everyone in the room making Mac roll his eyes. "...and budgetary constraints mean that there is only one place going at this year's conference." The room exploded into uproar, protests coming from every angle. "Enough!" Mac yelled. "This is out of my hands so if you'll all settle down … I'll tell you who's going." Mac lifted the box and shook it.

"How do we know it's not fixed?" Don grinned at Mac.

Mac gave him his best glare which seemed to amuse the younger detective even more. "Why are you worried? You're not even eligible."

Don's grin widened. "I know but I still think it was suspicious that Danny … and … Lindsay got picked last year."

Mac suppressed a smile. "Well if you don't trust me, why don't you do the honours?" Mac removed the lid and held out the box of folded papers. Don nodded smugly and made a show of covering his eyes as he picked a paper out of the box.

"And the lucky winner of a trip to the Forensic Science and Criminology Conference is ..." Don held up the piece of paper. "...drum roll please ..." Several staff complied by rapping their fingers on the desks. "... is …" Don opened the paper with a flourish, a spark of surprise flashing across his face. "... Adam Ross!" Although there were a few disappointed groans there was also a round of rapturous applause.

Adam just stood there. "Me?"

Mac looked at him. "You. Congratulations." Adam stared back at him.

"Of all the luck..." Danny looked disgusted.

Lindsay folded her arms looking slightly miffed. "How come we got San Diego and he gets Paris?"

Adam looked dumb-founded. "Paris? On my own? I … I've never been to Paris."

Mac smiled, his eyes twinkling with secret amusement, and patted him on the shoulder. "You'll love it. Just think, the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysée, the Folies Bergères, the Moulin Rouge, the Crazy Horse ..." Mac jiggled his eyebrows up and down as Don made an indignant snorting sound. Mac's smile broadened into a grin at the jealous looks Adam was receiving. "... and I know this fabulous little restaurant in Montmartre where there's a woman who sings all of Edith Piaf's songs for the guests – she's amazing and the food is fantastic!" Adam's eyes got wider as he spoke. "It'll be fun. We'll have a blast!"

"Whoa!" Sheldon looked at Mac suspiciously. "What do mean … we?"

Jo stuck her hands on her hips. "Yeah what do you mean we? You just said there was only one place at the conference."

Mac grinned at the outraged faces around. "That's quite right. There is only one delegate place being funded by the department." He picked up the programme flyer from the desk and turned to the middle pages to show them the schedule overview. He tapped a finger at the bottom of the page. Sheldon reached out and picked it up.

"Gala Dinner ..." He read. Then he paused as his eyes picked up the next words and he shot Mac a dirty look. "Guest of honour and keynote speaker, the head of the renowned New York City Crime Lab, Detective Mac Taylor."

The rest of his team looked as though they would like to have dunked him in the Hudson to wash the smug smile off his face. "Like I said there is only one delegate place. Congratulations Adam. Make sure your passport is up to date. We leave in two weeks." Mac patted him on the shoulder again before leaving the room.

Don looked at him. "Paris!" He sighed. "Well good for you Adam. Have fun!"

"I'm going to Paris." Adam suddenly grinned. "Whad'up!"

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Three thousand, nine hundred and twenty miles away, Jacques Cortelli was preparing to close up shop after a very slow business day. The short, scrawny, balding man meticulously shook out the dark cloth and covered the glass topped counter of the little antiques shop that was nestled in a side-street tucked away from the main tourist area of Marseille. He looked up in surprise as the bell jingled announcing a customer. Business was generally quiet and more so this late in the evening so the appearance of the woman was a little unsettling.

"Bonjour Madame. Puis-je vous aider?" he asked in an oily voice as his emaciated fingers smoothed down the black fabric.

The woman smiled, her bright crimson lips forming a harsh slash across the lower half of her pale face. Her eyes were hidden by dark glasses which she didn't remove despite the dim interior of the shop. She was clad entirely in black, even her hair was hidden by a scarf and hat. The only colour he could see were those lips which barely moved as she spoke.

"Yes, I'm looking for a gift for someone very special." She put a gloved hand into her bag and pulled out a green envelope and placed it on top of the cloth but she didn't remove her hand. Instead she merely waited.

Jacques Cortelli's eyes widened a little and then he nodded as he looked at the envelope noting his initials precisely written in the top right hand corner. "I think I have the perfect item for you." He bent down and, pulling a tiny key on a chain from his pocket, unlocked the cupboard under the display case. He lifted out a cardboard box and placed it on the floor. Pushing down slightly he slid the bottom of the cupboard to one side and reached into the hidden compartment. He pulled out a silver case, a little smaller than a child's shoe box. He then closed the hidden panel, replaced the cardboard box and relocked the cupboard.

Lifting the case, he turned it towards her and undid the two clasps. "I think you'll find this most suitable." The woman removed her hand from the green envelope and pulled one of the four numbered glass phials from the case. Her smile broadened showing her perfect white teeth.

"Perfect. I know he'll just adore this." She replaced the phial and snapped the box closed. "A pleasure doing business with you." She pushed the green envelope across the counter wrinkling the black cloth as she did so. Jacques Cortelli picked up the envelope and smoothed out the cloth. He didn't insult her by opening it but the weight felt right.

"Tout le plaisir est pour moi Madame." He bowed slightly as she turned and left, her black stiletto heels clicking on the red tiled floor. The moment the door closed behind her he opened the envelope and ran his thumb along the edge of the thick stack of bank notes. "Yes," he thought to himself. "So much more profitable than antiques."

The taxi driver sat patiently waiting for his customer outside the rather nondescript antiques store. He glanced in his rear-view mirror as she got into the back of the cab. "Aeroport s'il vous plait!" The driver nodded wearily and drove off glancing occasionally in the mirror wondering why she had insisted on going to that dump but then why should he worry he was being paid well. If he could pick up another fare at the airport back into town, he could call it a day after this trip. He watched her remove her gloves and carefully stow away a little silver case. It didn't seem much like an antique but then people paid good money for all sorts of strange things. He stifled a yawn as he headed towards the airport.

Elsa Rossi, pushed her gloves into her bag and opened the slim leather wallet in her purse and checked the tickets. Destination Paris leaving at eighteen hundred hours. She checked her watch. Plenty of time. She put the tickets back and checked the passport. "Dr Elisabeth Rossini." She nodded satisfied. It was best to stick to something familiar and the forgery was excellent but given the amount of money she had paid it had better be. She arranged the passport neatly next to the folder with the tickets and pulled out the small dark blue flyer with the words '8th Forensic Science and Criminology Conference' printed neatly on the front. She opened it up to the third page ignoring the foreword from the organisers and the profiles of the main speakers. She ran her thumb lovingly across the photograph of the man delivering the keynote speech.


	4. Chapter 2

**A/N : tlh45, you're right it was a little short so, as I had a little extra time last night, here is another one to make up for it. The chapters will get longer once I get the story going. I hope!  
**

**Chapter 2**

Adam Ross followed his boss into the brightly lit foyer of the Parisian palace-like hotel. He stared around in amazement at the gold and cream furnishings, the richly coloured carpets, the enormous flower arrangements and the smartly dressed footmen.

"Adam?" Adam broke away from his reverie as Mac gestured to him from the front desk. He walked over spinning around as he watched a couple of elegant women make their way across the foyer, their rapid chatter sounding like music to his ears. He had no idea what they were talking about but somehow he imagined it must be something very sophisticated and very French. "Here's your key." Mac handed him a slim card with a magnetic strip. "We're on the fourth floor."

"This is awesome." Mac smiled as he saw the look on Adam's face. He looked like a small boy in a toy shop and Mac was glad that chance had picked Adam to come on this trip.

"Come on. There'll be plenty of time to enjoy all this later."

"Mac Taylor!" Both men turned around to see a smartly dressed man with iron grey hair and a tightly cut beard approaching them his arms held wide. Much to Adam's astonishment he walked up and, gripping his shoulders, firmly kissed Mac on both cheeks. "It is good to see you again my old friend." Mac's eyes sparkled with amusement and he blushed slightly.

"It's good to see you again too Bruno. Allow me to introduce my colleague Adam Ross. Adam this Bruno Lefebvre, my counterpart here in Paris." Adam smiled and was about to extend a hand when he received the same treatment from the effusive Frenchman.

"Welcome to Paris Adam. Mac has told me all about you." Adam stared at him dumb-founded and mumbled an incoherent greeting. "And now allow me to introduce you both to someone." Bruno Lefebvre turned around and gestured to a slim young woman with enormous brown eyes standing behind him. "This is Eloise."

Adam was amused to see Mac's jaw drop. "Eloise?" he stammered. "Good Lord!" The girl smiled and stepped forward to embrace Mac as her father had done. Mac looked utterly surprised as he returned the embrace. "I can't believe where the time has gone. The last time I saw you, you were just a little girl."

Eloise giggled. "Now I am all grown up and working for my father." Mac's eyebrows shot up.

Bruno shrugged in a way that only Frenchmen can. "I tried to persuade her to become a doctor or a a lawyer or even a reality TV star – more money - mais non!" He threw his hands in the air then threw an arm around Mac's shoulders "She had to become a criminalist like her father – what am I to do? She is stubborn like her late mother. God rest her soul!" Bruno laughed as his daughter chided him. "Now come, you must freshen up after your long journey and then we can have a drink and catch up on old times before dinner. I know a fantastic restaurant with the best Côtes de Veau you have ever tasted." Bruno guided Mac towards the elevators.

"You must be Adam." Eloise smiled shyly at him. Adam nodded totally captivated by her tiny elfin face, her silky dark hair, gorgeous brown eyes and exotic accent. "I am very pleased to meet you." She leaned forward and kissed him gently on both cheeks.

"Likewise." Adam blushed as he realized he was staring but Eloise merely giggled under his open admiration. "Papa and I will wait for you in the bar. It's over there." Adam nodded and rushed after Mac. He decided his boss was right. They were going to have a blast.

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.

She watched them from her chair in the farthest corner of the room as they waited for the elevator. The grey-haired man and the young woman she took to be his daughter left them and headed in the direction of the bar. She saw Mac bend his head to listen to the younger man and then laugh at something. Mac patted him on the back and pushed him into the elevator. As they turned to face her she could see the younger man hanging on Mac's every word. They seemed so close that anyone would think they were father and son. Running a perfectly manicured finger across the screen of the tablet computer she selected a line and a file opened up. "Adam Ross." She studied the file she had on him. "Quite the little genius but a junior member of the team. Well he must mean a lot to you if you have brought him with you. Interesting."

"Madame?"

She looked up to see a waiter looking at her strangely as he cleared away the coffee cups at the other end of the coffee table. She realized that she must have been talking to herself. She smiled at him and asked for black coffee.

"Bien Madame."

The waiter walked away and as soon as he had disappeared from sight, she got up and left. It wouldn't do for anyone to recognise her and spoil her plans. She marched out of the hotel and stepped straight into the back of a waiting car. Without any instructions the driver pulled away into the early evening traffic. She pulled a phone from her bag and pressed a button. The call was answered almost immediately. "He's arrived. We shall proceed as planned. Get everything ready." She snapped the phone shut and Elsa Rossi smiled.

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Jo Danville scrawled a signature across the bottom of the paper, closed the file with a satisfied smile and plopped it onto the pile of buff folders to her right. The pile wobbled as it threatened to drop onto the floor. She stood up and scooped up the pile of folders.

Lindsay looked at her impressed. "Wow, you really are making progress!"

Jo looked at her suspiciously and rolled her eyes. "Okay I know it's still a mess ..." Jo glanced at her desk thinking that mess didn't even begin to describe the mass of papers, folders, post-it notes and sundry odds and ends that scattered her desk. "... but I'm determined that Mac will see a difference when he gets back." Jo turned around and pulled open the door of the cupboard behind her with the intention of filing the folders. She gasped as a pile of papers glided to the floor and then whirled around to glare at Lindsay who was desperately trying to hide her mirth.

Jo's phone rang forcing her to dump the folders back on her desk in frustration. "Danville." Jo listened for a moment. "What? When was this?" She ran a hand through her hair as she listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. "Do you know where she is now?" Jo listened some more and sank into her chair. "No I understand, thank you for telling me." Jo put the receiver back in its cradle and sat for a moment deep in thought.

Lindsay was looking at her quizzically. "What is it Jo?"

"That was our new contact at Interpol. It was a courtesy call to let us know that Elsa Rossi has popped up again."

"What?" Lindsay looked as outraged as Jo felt. "Where?"

"According to him three weeks ago a taxi cab leaving Marseille airport got into an accident because of a drunken passenger who then fled the scene. The police dusted the car for prints and when they entered them into their system, one lot of prints set bells ringing. Elsa Rossi had been a passenger in that cab."

"Three weeks ago? Why are they telling us this only now?"

"It seems that the prints have only just been entered into their system..." Jo looked at Lindsay. "Because nobody was killed, the driver of the cab and another driver were only slightly injured, and because of a series of armed robberies the case was pushed to the back-burner."

"What are they going to do?"

Jo shrugged. "Nothing. What can they do? All they know is that at some point Elsa Rossi took a ride in the back of a Marseille taxi cab."

"What are we going to do?"

Jo smiled and got up. "I'm going to talk to Sheldon and Danny and see if they can figure out something " Lindsay opened her mouth. "I know and thank you but you need to close the Patterson case first. It's a shame that Adam isn't here. We could really do with him now. "Jo looked at her watch. "I expect he's sleeping off his jet lag." Little did they know that Adam was sitting next to a beautiful young French woman on a comfortable couch in an elegant bar with a drink in his hand having the time of his life while Mac and Bruno sat opposite them catching up on old times.


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Bonjour Adam!"

"Hey Eloise." Adam smiled and blushed at the same time as she tucked her arm through his. "Were you at the first session?"

"Yes, it was rather boring but then opening speeches always are. Where are you going now?" Eloise looked at her programme.

"Well I was thinking about the workshop on security in communication networks but that's not for another hour."

"Great I'd like to go to that too. In the meantime, let's go see Replicant." Eloise tugged at his arm.

"What's Replicant?"

"A friend of mine from university is developing it. It's fantastic. It's going to take facial recognition to a whole new level. Come on." Grabbing his hand she led him through the corridors of the conference centre away from the main auditorium to the area set aside for demonstrations of up and coming technology. "There he is. Olivier?" A young man with a mop of dirty blond hair, a scraggy-looking goatee and a Killer Queen tee-shirt waved.

"Eloise, comment ça va?" Oliver bent and they kissed each other on the cheek three times. Adam wondered how many they knew how to do and which side to start. It seemed complicated to him.

"Bien, bien, Olivier this is Adam Ross from the New York Crime Lab."

Adam and Olivier shook hands. "You want to see?" Olivier gestured hopefully to the three screens and a camera set up behind him. Adam nodded. "Okay, come and sit here." Olivier beamed and led him to a high stool as Eloise goaded him on. Curious, Adam sat on the stool. "Okay, now today you know that we often have to get witnesses to recognize people from photographs." Adam nodded wondering where this was going. "Well Replicant takes that one step further. It can take either a 2D or 3D image and animate it. So let's just say that a witness picks you out from your mug-shot but he is not quite sure because a photograph isn't like seeing a real person." Olivier moved over to the camera and snapped Adam's picture. He then moved the camera to take a side shot before tapping away at a keyboard. "Okay so first of all we create your Replicant." He hit a key with a flourish and a 3D likeness of Adam appeared on one of the two monitors behind him rotating slowly from left to right and back again.

"Hey, that's good." Adam grinned at Olivier and Eloise clapped her hands.

"Oh wait you haven't seen anything yet." Olivier smiled. "Now let's give you a voice. So male, age around thirty, American, east coast accent, and let's make your mood angry. You're a bad guy okay?" Olivier grinned as he tapped at the keyboard. The animated Adam on the screen stopped rotating and the face formed an angry expression glaring out at them.

"Go ahead punk make my day!" intoned Animated Adam though the voice was a little off.

Adam gaped at himself on the screen. "Hey that's great."

Olivier smiled. "There are twelve moods, each with three or four expressions. I can change skin tone, add facial features, make them look like they've been in a fight. I only have a limited number of voices and accents at the moment but I'm working on that. Of course, if we have a voice sample which could be recorded when a suspect is detained in the same way as taking photographs, finger-prints, DNA etcetera..." He nodded towards the microphone. "Speak into the microphone. Just a short phrase. Who you are. Where you are from."

Adam leaned towards the microphone. "Okay. My name is Adam Ross and I'm from the New York City Crime lab."

Oliver smiled. "Perfect. And now I can register your voice pattern and make you say anything I want." He tapped away at the keyboard. Animated Adam looked out from the screen, his face still angry as he began to recite. "Mary had a little lamb, it's fleece as white as snow..." Adam was amazed to hear a very close approximation of his own voice and facial expressions. He started laughing as did the crowd that had been gathering to watch the demonstration. Olivier changed the mood to make Animated Adam sound happy and then fearful. One or two members of the audience began to clap and some reached for the brochures that Olivier had stacked on a stand.

"It is brilliant no?" enthused Eloise.

Adam smiled at her. "It is brilliant. Yes." Adam looked at himself on screen and thought about how much fun he could have with that back at the lab. As Eloise and Adam continued to chat to Olivier and several other delegates on the programming behind Replicant and other potential uses, they were blissfully unaware that they were the object of much interest. Elsa Rossi, her dark hair now cut short and styled in a asymmetric bob, wearing a plain grey suit, with heavy-rimmed square cut glasses and sporting a delegate badge announcing her to be Dr Elisabeth Rossini from Geneva, watched the demonstration with fascination. She allowed herself a small smile as she waited for them to leave.

As the delegates wandered away for the first set of workshops she walked up to Olivier removing her glasses and undoing her jacket to reveal a low-cut lace top. "That was a fascinating demonstration. A brilliant piece of engineering" she began. Olivier preened under her flattery. "Tell me more. For example, are you able to keep records of this?" She pointed to the image of Adam who was rotating on the screen. "Could it be transferred it to a tablet computer or a cell phone .. you know, for use in the field?" As Olivier chatted on enthusiastically about his invention and its possibilities, Dr Elisabeth Rossini appeared to hang on his every word. Olivier was overwhelmed by her attention not to mention that she was a very seductive woman. As he reached for a brochure and jotted his number on a business card, he failed to spot the flash drive that she subtly attached to his computer.

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Jo Danville was curled up on her couch with her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. It was still early but she couldn't sleep. She couldn't get her mind to stop thinking about Elsa Rossi. What was she doing in France? Marseille was a long way from Paris but it was still too close to comfort for her liking. She looked at the phone and then at the clock. "Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained." She picked up the phone and skimmed through her contacts. The call was picked up on the second ring.

"You're up early," laughed the other voice at the end of the phone. "You know we've got to get a life."

Jo laughed. "And there was I thinking that I might be waking you up?"

"Oh I wish! You know I was always moaning at Mac that he worked too hard, got up at unearthly hours and went to bed far too late if at all." Jo could hear the clinking of pots. It sounded like Stella was making breakfast. "And here I am doing the same. So what's up? Please tell me you're not calling because he's done something idiotic?"

Jo giggled. "No don't worry, he's safely in Paris with Adam."

"What?" Jo could hear the astonishment in her voice. What she wouldn't have given to see Stella's face at that moment. "What the hell is he doing in Paris with Adam?"

"They're at the forensics conference. Adam won the draw this year and Mac got to go as honoured guest and keynote speaker." Jo paused to wave at a very sleepy Ellie who walked zombie-like to the kitchen glaring at her mother. "Some people get all the luck."

"Yeah, when I went it was in Boston! Paris! Ugh!"

Jo laughed. "Anyway I was calling to ask you a favour. Do you still have that contact in the Marseille police force?"

"Yes, Nico, why?"

"Because I got a courtesy call from Interpol yesterday. Three weeks ago a taxi cab leaving Marseille airport got into an accident because of a drunken passenger who then fled the scene. The police processed the cab and they got a hit from one of the sets of prints from the back seat. They belonged to Elsa Rossi."

"Elsa Rossi?" The background noises stopped and Jo could tell that Stella had stopped abruptly. "What would she be doing in Marseille?"

"That is a good question. We're unable to find anything out through official channels. Not our concern, no active case etcetera etcetera. You know how it is. So I wondered if you could ..." Jo didn't get further.

"Leave it with me. I'll call Nico and get back to you." The line went dead and Jo smiled.

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At the other side of the Atlantic, a darkly dressed figure wandered down the hall and stopped outside room 415. Elsa Rossi pressed her ear to the door. She could hear the faint sound of the television. "Can't sleep?" she whispered. "Well I have a remedy for that." A sound caught her ear and she pulled away from the door. Raucous laughter floated out down the hall followed by several people shushing. Elsa whirled around and ran down the corridor slipping into the emergency exit. Before closing the door she peered round to see who it was.

Adam Ross came tumbling out of the elevator with another young man. They wished each other goodnight and walked away in opposite directions. Adam wandered down the corridor a little unsteadily and pulled out his key card. He tried to open his door but it wouldn't cooperate. He bent down to peer at the lock. Suddenly he felt the card being pulled from his hand. He watched it being turned around and be inserted into the lock. The little light turned from red to green.

Adam smiled his sweetest smile. "Hey boss, I … er … only just got back." Mac raised an eyebrow. "Eloise took me and some others to this crazy restaurant where you dip bread in melted cheese and they serve the wine in baby bottles. Then we went on a boat trip under all these bridges and we went to the beach ..." Adam paused as he looked at Mac's incredulous face. "I haven't had that much to drink, honest! At least I don't think I have. How much wine do you get in a baby's bottle?"

Mac looked at Adam like a father who had just caught his two year sitting in front of an open refrigerator trying to feed itself with yoghurt. "Enough that I think you need to go sleep it off." He gently pushed Adam through the door into his room and inserted the card in the holder on the wall to switch on the lights and closed the door behind him. Mac chuckled to himself as he turned around to go back to his own room opposite. Suddenly he paused, his sixth sense kicking in. He felt a slight breeze and then heard a click. Mac looked down the corridor but it was silent and empty. He stepped back into his room and closed the door making sure he turned the lock.

A/N : Next update Monday. Hopefully.


	6. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you so much for leaving me reviews. Hope it's making sense so far.  
**

**Chapter 4**

Nico Pereire was what many women would describe as drop dead gorgeous. His six foot frame was lean and muscular and the black leather jacket only served to highlight the white tee-shirt that the young woman opposite him clearly wished he wasn't wearing. He leaned across the desk and smiled at her and made his request. He didn't have a warrant so he couldn't force her but his grey eyes sparkled with a promise that only he knew he wouldn't keep and his smile was so endearing that Emilie thought she would melt on the spot. She turned to her computer as she looked towards the boss' office. Seeing it empty, her fingers flew across the keyboard and the screen slowly filled with text. She selected an option from the menu and the printer whirred into life. With a speed that surprised even Nico, three white sheets spewed from the printer and she handed them over with a shy smile.

"Merci cherie. Tu es adorable." Emilie bit her lip and blushed as he turned and left the office. She sighed as she watched him leave quite unable to stop herself focussing on the tight denim jeans and the silver cuffs attached to his belt. She wished he would use those handcuffs on her. Little did he know but Nico Pereire had just made her day and little did Emilie know but she had just made Nico's day and by doing so, was about to make two women on the other side of the Atlantic very, very unhappy.

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Stella Bonasera was just about to take a bite of her sandwich when her computer bleeped to indicate an incoming video call. She wished she had eaten more breakfast as she was starving and lunchtime had been and gone. With a sigh she looked longingly at the sandwich and dumped it back in the bag. She smiled as she saw who it was and clicked 'answer'. "Nico, it's good to see you."

"Allo, my gorgeous Greek Goddess! " Nico smiled cheekily back at her from the screen.

Stella shook her head. "Enough of that Nico. Tell me you have something good for me?"

"Other than my body?" Nico's smile changed to a outright grin.

"Nico!" Stella tried to look outraged but found it impossible.

"Well, it took a little time and more than a little charm ..." Stella rolled her eyes making Nico laugh. "... but I have found some trace of your Elsa Rossi." Nico's demeanour suddenly turned serious and he lowered his voice. "I did some research on her. She is wanted by Interpol, Scotland Yard and the FBI. What the hell has she done?"

Stella nodded. "Since we linked her to the Forum, both Interpol and the FBI have been digging into her past and found links to some very shady people. She makes her living by buying and selling secrets to the highest bidder. I'm guessing now the Forum is no longer buying she's trawling for new customers so the question is 'what was she doing in Marseille'?"

"Okay, here is what I know. First of all, I got the records from the cab company and looked at where the driver of the cab had been prior to going to the airport. I think Elsa Rossi was his previous fare. He picked his fare up at the Hotel Astoria but they did not go straight to the airport. They went to a small antiques dealer in the old town, a man by the name of Jacques Cortelli."

"Antiques?"

"Stella, she was not buying antiques. I have heard of this Cortelli and I did a little discrete checking. This man is under investigation by the Stups ... how you say … drug squad. He specializes in high-end narcotics, designer drugs and pharmaceuticals."

"Drugs?" Stella was confused. Drugs didn't sound like Elsa Rossi's style any more than antiques.

"From there, she went straight to the airport. Now I have a contact there and he did some checking for me. He looked at all the flights leaving within two hours of her arrival at the airport and he sent me the manifests. I cross checked them with a list of guests from the Hotel Astoria and I got a name." Stella looked intrigued. "A woman by the name of Dr Elisabeth Rossini, supposedly a Swiss national, resided three days at the Astoria and took a flight to Paris." At this alarm bells started ringing in Stella's head. "She had to declare the drugs at customs of course but she had papers stating that they were a sample of chemotherapy drugs being taken to the Institut Pasteur in Paris. I called the Institut. No one has heard of Dr Elisabeth Rossini."

"Okay, Nico. Thank you. I owe you big time."

Nico waved a hand. "No, no. I owed you. Thank you for sending the Corsican back to us. His arrest looks good on my record." He grinned at her. "Bye bye my Goddess and let me know if you ever come to Marseille. I will show you a good time." Nico grinned cheekily at her and cut the transmission. Stella's laugh was cut short as one thought pushed all others from her mind. Elsa Rossi and Mac Taylor were in the same city and therein lay the question : was it a coincidence? She picked up her cell phone and dialled Jo.

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Adam flicked off his phone and settled down into the plush cinema-style chair. He felt a pat on his shoulder and he shook hands with a young German technology expert from the Frankfurt police with whom he had struck up a friendship at the restaurant the previous evening. He looked as bad as Adam felt. Adam focussed his attention on the stage where the next speaker was about to start. He stifled a yawn and promised himself never to drink wine from anything other than a very small glass. Eloise slipped into the seat next to him looking bright and fresh. She flashed him a beautiful smile and Adam wondered whether, by dint of being French, people here were immune to the effects of their own wine. He was sure she had drunk as much as him yet she did not appear to be at all affected by it.

"This should be very interesting," she whispered. "It is a pity he is such an awful speaker." Adam groaned and wondered how he was going to stay awake through two hours of lectures on nanotechnology in the field of forensic science.

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"Dammit!" Jo flung down her phone. "Both phones are going to voice-mail." She leaned over to her keyboard and clicked on the teleconference icon. She looked down at the list of icons but Mac's avatar was grey. He wasn't logged on.

"No luck?" asked Lindsay.

"No. They were both probably in sessions this afternoon and it's the gala dinner this evening. I'm going to have to try and catch him before he goes to the dinner. I've left them both a dozen messages."

"Do you think Elsa Rossi is in Paris because of Mac?"

"I don't know. It does seem a little far-fetched that she would go to all this trouble and risk being caught for the sake of revenge but who knows what's in that woman's mind. It's just that it seems an odd coincidence that they are both in Paris at the same time."

Lindsay couldn't deny that she found it odd too. "We don't know that Elsa is still there. After all she flew into Paris two weeks ago. She could be anywhere by now."

"Unfortunately that is not true." Both women swivelled their chairs to see Sheldon standing in the doorway, his face grim. "I decided to do a little checking myself. I got a copy of the list of delegates attending this year's conference. One name stood out – Dr Elisabeth Rossini from Geneva."

"We have got to get hold of Mac!" As if he had heard her, Mac's avatar changed from grey to colour and a box popped up on screen. Jo scooted her chair back to the keyboard and accepted the call. She smiled as an image of Mac appeared on the screen. Clearly his laptop was perched on one end of his bed while he sat on the other doing up his shirt cuffs with a cuff-link.

"Hey Jo, what's up? I seem to be getting messages to call you by every means possible." Mac looked worried. "Is everyone all right?"

Jo sighed with relief. "Yes everything here is fine. It's you we're worried about."

Mac looked as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Me why?"

Sheldon leaned over Jo's shoulder. "Mac, Elsa Rossi is attending the conference under the name Dr Elisabeth Rossini. We think she may be coming after you."

Mac's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Elsa Rossi? Here? Why the hell would she want to come after me?"

Jo arched an eyebrow. "According to Don and Stella things were pretty hot between you two the last time you worked together ..." Mac shot her a furious glare but Jo merely smiled and continued. "... and you were responsible for bringing down the Forum thereby getting her booted out of Interpol, depriving her of her income and making her a wanted woman."

"You think she's after revenge?" Mac didn't look convinced. He shook his head. "No, if she's here it's for some other reason."

"Mac, before she flew to Paris Elsa Rossi was in Marseille. It's our belief that she obtained some drugs, possibly narcotics or pharmaceuticals."

"Drugs?" Mac's frown deepened. "You think she's changed commodities? Selling drugs instead of information?" Mac was distracted as the doorbell rang. "Hold on." He got up and walked away but came back almost immediately with Adam who was looking very smart in a suit and tie.

Adam plopped himself on the bed in Mac's place while Mac shrugged on his jacket and turned to a mirror to fix his bow-tie. "Hey guys! What's up? You missing us 'cos we ain't missing you." Jo, Sheldon and Lindsay all had to smile at the goofy grin on his face as clearly Adam was enjoying himself immensely.

"It seems we have a problem." Mac announced from behind him while he did battle with his tie. "Elsa Rossi is here." Adam looked at Mac and then at the screen in amazement. Before he could say anything, the phone rang. Mac flicked his head at Adam who grabbed the phone from the night-stand, listened for a moment and then told the person calling that they'd be right down.

"Okay boss, we gotta go. Can't be late. You got your speech?" Mac smiled and tapped at his head. "Whoa, you memorized it?" Adam looked disgusted. "Wish I had an eidetic memory." Adam smiled at Jo. "Don't worry, we'll keep an eye out for her ..." and he leaned forward conspiratorially. "And I'll look after the boss, I promise."


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Bruno Lefebvre joined in the rapturous applause as Mac stepped down from the podium and made his way back to his seat threading among the tables. Bruno watched as Mac paused by a table to talk to a man in evening dress. He peered hard at the faces around the table looking for one person in particular but he only recognized the man Mac was talking to as being from the British delegation and a large woman with bleached hair who he vaguely recalled as being from Brazil and who was gazing rather brazenly at Mac while he chatted with the man in formal dress. Bruno allowed his gaze to wander around the room. As he did so he noticed Adam sitting next to Eloise. He allowed himself a small smile. They really did seem to fit well together. Though they both appeared relaxed chatting with their other colleagues he noticed that they too kept looking around. Bruno looked away from his daughter and her new friend and he caught the eye of the two men by the door. He got up and walked over to them.

Eloise noticed her father make his way over to the door and speak briefly with the two men. "They work for my father. The one on the left is Marc. The other is Jean-Philippe," she whispered to Adam. "He has asked them to try and find this Elisabeth Rossini or Elsa Rossi or whatever she is calling herself. You really think she is after Mac?"

Adam shrugged. "I don't know but Jo seems to think so and Jo is usually right." Adam looked over to where Mac was still stood chatting to the group sitting around table seven. "She'd be crazy to try something here."

"You know this might all be a coincidence or even a case of mistaken identity."

Adam nodded. "Yeah I know." But Adam intended to keep a very close eye on his boss.

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Mac made his way back to his room. His hand hovered over the key lock for a second sensing someone standing behind him then he pushed the card in and opened the door. "Adam!"

"I'm just checking okay?" Much to Mac's surprise and annoyance, Adam pushed past him and checked the room out, even looking in the closet and the bathroom. Mac stood by the door with an amused look on his face as Adam left. "Jo would kill me if I let anything happen to you. I'll see you in the morning." Adam crossed the hall to his own room and stood there watching as Mac shook his head, wished him a good night and closed the door. Adam waited for the light to turn red showing that the door was locked then Adam let himself into his room but not before checking the corridor.

Mac chuckled to himself at the younger man's concern. He had to admit that he had enjoyed his company more than he had expected to and it had been a great opportunity to get to know him better. Adam seemed to be more relaxed and had clearly enjoyed the conference though judging from their discussion earlier Mac dreaded to think what requests Adam was going to make for new technology and what that was going to do to his budget.

Mac pulled at his tie and stripped off his evening suit and hung it in it's cover. He pushed his shirt and underwear into a cloth bag, deciding to take a quick shower to freshen up after being forced to wear the rather heavy suit on a hot evening. Once he had cooled down, he flipped on the TV to CNN to watch the news and slipped into grey sweat pants and a matching grey tee-shirt. Although he had drunk very little wine with dinner he felt dry-mouthed so he opened up the mini-bar and pulled out a bottle of water. He grimaced at the taste but having just brushed his teeth he put it down to the combination of toothpaste and mineral water and he took another swig. Realizing he had left the bathroom light on he went to switch it off. He suddenly felt very tired but the three day conference had been non stop and he hadn't been getting much sleep as Bruno seemed determined to show him a good time and introduce him to as many people as possible. His arms and legs felt heavy and he wavered a little. He thought that jet lag must be catching up with him so he gulped down some more water and switched off the light. He returned to the bedroom but his limbs seemed to be getting heavier and heavier. Suddenly the bed seemed far away, the light from the night stand making a kaleidoscope of colours on the metallic threads in the material of the soft furnishings. Mac felt himself stagger and the room seemed to whirl around him even though he knew it could not be so. He watched in surprise as the bottle fell from his hand and bounced silently on the carpet as it spilled it's contents onto the floor. He didn't feel a thing when the floor rose up to meet him.

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The first thing that Adam was aware of was a loud banging on the door and someone shouting his name. He rolled out of bed glancing at the clock. It was surprised to see it was already gone nine and the sun was shining in through the gap in the curtains. He ran to the door and opened it surprised to see Bruno Lefebvre standing outside. "Do you know where Mac is?" Adam felt the blood drain from his face as he stammered out a no.

Bruno Lefebvre turned to the two men beside him. "Ouvrez-le!" he ordered. The nervous young man wearing hotel livery opened the door to Mac's room and stood back to allow Bruno and the other man to enter the room. Adam followed them. He looked around the room. Everything seemed neat and tidy. Too tidy. The bed was made as though it hadn't been slept in. Mac's phone sat on the night-stand. There were no clothes lying around; Mac's clothes were hung neatly in the closet and his suitcase sat on a rack near the desk next to his shoes. The only thing out of place was a pale blue bottle top lying on the floor just under the edge of the bed. As Adam stepped towards it, he stopped and looked down at his bare feet.

"The carpet is wet." Bruno and the other man who Adam recalled as one of the men Eloise said worked for her father bent down and touched the carpet. Bruno pulled a glove from his pocket and slipping it on picked up the bottle top. He held it up to the light.

"Merde!" he swore. Adam peered at it as Bruno held it for him to see. "There is a minute hole. Marc, check the mini-bar." Bruno's colleague pulled on gloves as he stepped over to the little fridge set in a cupboard next to the desk. He opened it, pulled a paper from and compared the contents of the fridge to the inventory.

"There is one bottle missing," he announced as he pulled another one from the fridge. "This has a hole too." He grabbed a can of soda. "This also."

Bruno stood up. "Get the team in here now. Get Jean-Philippe and Carla to check any unusual activity around the hotel. They interview everyone and get Elsa Rossi's picture out everywhere." Bruno's flawless English got more heavily accented as he began to panic. "Merde!" he swore again as he looked at Adam. "I knew something was wrong the minute I arrived for breakfast. Mac is always punctual. I am sorry. This shouldn't have happened."

Adam didn't know what to say. Bruno was right. It shouldn't have happened. Jo had been right and now it was his fault that Elsa Rossi had taken Mac. Adam felt sick. How was he going to tell Jo? Bruno seemed to read his thoughts.

"Adam, go get dressed. We need to process this room and figure out where she has taken him. My team are on their way but I need all the help I can get. Go." Adam nodded and rushed back to his room. Bruno looked around the room. There had to be something, some tiny clue and no matter how small it was he would find it. He prayed for a miracle.

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Little did Mac's friend know but that miracle was going to come some ten hours later in the form of a scruffy, slightly over-weight ex-cop by the name of Henri Gusdorf.

Henri leaned on the balustrade of his nineteenth arrondissement apartment and blew a cloud of smoke into the air as he listened to the couple next door arguing again. He sighed and took another pull at his cigarette. He supposed this meant he would have to listen to their make-up sex again later. Perhaps he would pop down to the local bar and see if his old friend was up for a game of dominoes. He looked up and down the street. It wasn't one of the more upmarket streets that had been renovated as urban renewal spread slowly outwards forced by wealthy Parisians in a desperate search for accommodation. The buildings were old and in need of repair but money had passed them by in favour of knocking down the old abattoirs further away in order to build a new museum complex, park and more modern housing. His eyes roamed the familiar buildings opposite; the row of four houses had all been converted into studios or lofts as the young people liked to call them. The ground floors were no longer shops and cafés as they had been in his youth but were either closed up or converted into apartments. He sighed and took another pull at the cigarette as a sleek black car pulled up in front of the old abandoned Citroen garage. He had seen the car several times over the previous couple of weeks and he wondered if someone was finally going to knock it down and build more apartments. Henri would be sorry to see it go. He used to love watching them repair the cars when he was a boy. To his surprise, the driver got out of the car and stood to open the rear door. Rather than someone getting out, a smartly-dressed woman in high heels staggered out of the garage. She had her hand clasped to her face. Henri squinted as she paused and pulled the door closed. Henri noticed that she didn't lock it. The woman removed her hand briefly from her face just before she got into the car. The chauffeur closed the door behind her, regained his place and pulled away.

Henri stubbed out the cigarette and straightened up automatically brushing the ash from his dark grey pants. He turned and ran back inside his apartment pausing only to grab the keys from a bowl by the door. He pushed at the button for the elevator but as usual it wasn't working so he ran down the wooden stairs, his bulky frame making the old boards squeak and groan. He passed Madame Dufour on the third floor but ignored her greeting leaving her open-mouthed as he plunged down the stairs, his bulk shaking with every step. Emerging onto the street he ran across to the garage and stopped at the kerb. He wheezed as he looked down. A bright red circle of blood lay on the dirty grey paving stone. He had been right. The woman's nose had been bleeding profusely. Slowly he walked up to the door and tested the handle. It turned and Henri Gusdorf looked through the opening into dim interior of the garage. He stepped back in shock, his breath catching in his throat. He blinked to make sure what he was seeing was real. Then he pulled a phone from his pocket, stepped inside and closed the door.

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Bruno Lefevbre sat in a heavy wood and leather chair reading the report in front of him. He looked up at his daughter and her worried young friend sitting opposite him. "Brotizolam. It is a short-acting benzodiazepine, an extremely potent drug with a half-life of about four to five hours." He flipped through the pages. "All the samples tested positive for it."

"How did they get him out of the room?" Eloise plucked at a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a habit her father had often noticed when she was stressed about something.

"In a hotel linen van. The night security guard remembered seeing a van leaving about four in the morning. He thought it was unusual. Dirty linen is usually collected later in the day. He thought he saw two men but couldn't be sure. Carla managed to trace the van with the traffic cameras but only until it left the péripherique and entered the nineteenth." Bruno picked up on Adam's frown. "The péripherique is the Paris ring road, the nineteenth is an area to the north-east of Paris. I have contacted the local commissariats for anything unusual but so far ..." Bruno lifted his hands in despair.

Adam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt exhausted. Mac had been gone almost sixteen hours and Adam had spent most of them finding a variety of excuses not to call Jo. They should have been on a flight back to New York now and he knew that by the morning he would have to call. He ran a hand through his hair in despair. He looked up at Eloise as she placed a hand on his arm and gave him a reassuring smile.

They both jumped as Marc entered the room and spoke in rapid French. Adam picked up on the urgency in his voice and the startled looks of both Eloise and her father who both jumped out of their chairs. "Adam, come quickly, they've found him."


	8. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Adam, come quickly, they've found him."

Adam's heart soared as he heard the words leave her mouth but suddenly his heart was filled with dread. "Is he …?"

"Alive … yes but we must hurry." They ran to the stairs, dodging around everyone they passed leaving a wake of surprised and curious people behind them. Adam followed them down to the parking garage. Bruno halted as Eloise ran to a car.

"Ah non! … You are not driving," he complained.

"Papa!" Eloise rolled her eyes. She got in the driver's seat and slammed the door.

Bruno looked at Adam and cast his eyes heaven-ward. "Oh mon Dieu! Adam you ride in front." He gave Adam a push towards the car. "Make sure you put on your seat-belt … and feel free to close your eyes." Adam hesitated for a split-second and then got in and did what he was told but he couldn't help glancing sideways at Eloise as she pulled out of the parking space and headed towards the ramp.

Eloise noticed him looking. "Ignore my father. I came top in all my driving classes." She then proceeded to demonstrate her driving skills through the streets of Paris on a Saturday night. Within five minutes Adam's face was white and he had lost all feeling in the hand that was gripping the passenger side grab handle. He took Bruno's advice about closing his eyes more than once especially when Eloise took one hand off the wheel to point out the Sacré Coeur while overtaking a bus and cutting in front of a German tour coach. In what seemed to be no time at all, they pulled into a tiny street where Adam could see the flashing lights of a police car and what appeared to be a fire service vehicle. No sooner had Eloise stopped than Adam leapt out of the car and ran towards the building. He jumped through the open service door set into a larger door of what appeared to be a garage and ground to halt, his mouth wide open in horror. In the centre of the open space of the disused garage stood a Laundry Service van with its doors wide open, a small table, a chair with leather straps attached to the arms and on the floor in front of it five men. Four well-built men, two in police uniforms and two in the uniforms of the Sapeur Pompier de Paris, were attempting to subdue the fifth man.

Adam was vaguely aware of Eloise and Bruno joining him as he stared at the man on the floor. He was almost unrecognisable as he screamed and bucked unable to get up because of the four men holding him down. His face and neck were covered in sweat and his eyes and veins bulged. His facial muscles seemed distorted and his heart-wrenching screams echoed through the building. Adam found himself unable to look away despite desperately wanting to. He wanted to wipe the image from his mind, to pretend that he was witnessing it. He wanted to scream at them to stop, to let him go but he knew that they couldn't. Adam felt someone clutch as his shoulder.

"Oh mon Dieu! Mac!" Bruno let go of Adam's shoulder as he staggered over to them and dropped to his knees. He grabbed Mac's head on either side of his bloodied face and lowered his own to look at him. "Mac, it is Bruno. Look at me. Look at me." The writhing lessened a little but the four men took the opportunity to reinforce their grip on his arms and legs. Slowly Mac's wild eyes connected with Bruno's. "Mac, you know me. Look at me. You must let me help you." Bruno could see Mac's pulse throbbing in a vein in his temple. His breathing was rapid and shallow. He moaned as though in agony. Bruno looked down at Mac's right arm where a catheter was still inserted into a vein. He looked around the room. "Eloise, la table!"

On hearing her father's voice, Eloise pulled herself from her stupor and ran over to the old Formica table with rusted legs. Next to a laptop computer, a small silver case stood on the table, it's lid open. Inside were three numbered phials. They were almost empty. Three used syringes lay on the table next to it. The smashed pieces of a fourth bottle and a syringe lay on the floor. Eloise pulled on a pair of gloves as Adam came up beside her. She turned the box to face him.

Adam looked down at the numbered phials and then at the piece of paper fixed to the inside of the lid.

"What does it say?" shouted Bruno as he gently but firmly cradled Mac's head in his hands. "What have they given him?"

Eloise turned to him with a strange expression on her face. "Je ne sais pas ... I don't know." She turned to look at Adam. "What does it mean?" She could see tears glistening in his eyes as he read the numbered list on the paper attached to the lid of the box. Adam merely shook his head as though he couldn't understand the four words printed there.

"Eloise?" Bruno shouted desperately.

She picked up the box and showed it to her father. She pointed to the numbered phials and read out the labels. "Sleep ... Pleasure ... Pain ..." Then she pointed to the one on the floor. "... Death."

Bruno looked at his daughter in shock and then down at his friend. The convulsions had abated but Mac was still trembling violently and the screaming had reduced to a moaning. His eyes were now tightly shut. Bruno lowered his ear and listened. He could just make out some mumbled words.

"No … won't tell you … won't betray him … won't betray my country … Oh God! … Forgive me! Please forgive me!"

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Florence Delgarde smoothed down her dark blue skirt and put on her best smile as the flight was announced and all first class passengers were asked to begin boarding. An impatient business man almost threw his ticket and passport at her. She passed it through the machine and gave him his stub and wished him a pleasant flight but he didn't even stop to look at her. She did the same for a strange looking man with an angular face, white hair and ultra-modern clothes who gave her a sickly smile and positively leered at her legs. Normally she hated the high-necked blouse and scarf tied round her neck but under his gaze she found that she was glad to be covered up. She gave him back his passport and then his ticket and shuddered at the feel of his fingers on hers. She wished him a pleasant flight and he winked as he left to board. Her eyes widened at the next person to approach the first class desk of the Air France flight to Chicago. The poor woman looked like she'd been in an accident as she walked heavily towards her dragging a small case. A large white plaster was taped across her nose but despite the bruising Florence could tell she was very beautiful. Florence looked down as she passed her ticket and checked her passport. She gave Mrs Roswell a sympathetic smile as she handed her her passport and wished her a pleasant flight. She didn't get a reply. Florence sighed. First class passengers were a strange lot she decided. She was glad when the announcement came that boarding was closing. She closed up her terminal, drew the heavy cord rope across the opening and made her way to the staff canteen. As she walked up to the coffee machine she saw Arno from security going around handing out papers to staff and asking them to look at the photo. Most barely gave the photograph a second glance as they shook their heads. She added a sugar to her coffee and slowly stirred the dark rich liquid as she waited for him to approach. Her stomach fluttered as he spotted her and came her way.

"Salut Florence." Arno smiled shyly at her. Arno thought Florence was gorgeous; she was petite, with rich auburn air, smouldering eyes and the sweetest smile. He desperately wanted to ask her out but he seemed to get tongue-tied every time he was in her presence. But at least this time he had an excuse to talk to her. He held out the piece of paper and asked if she had seen the woman pictured there. Much to his astonishment Florence looked at the paper and said yes. They looked at one another for a moment and then Arno reached for his radio.

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Adam decided that the last two hours had been the worst he could remember. With Bruno's help the four men had finally managed to get Mac onto a stretcher that looked more like a mountain-rescue cradle. He had felt sick as he watched them tie him down. Adam had thought that perhaps he could help his boss but the sight of him seemed to distress Mac so much that Adam had had to leave. He now sat on a hard wooden bench in a high-ceilinged corridor opposite a small plain office where Bruno was talking to a severe looking woman wearing a white coat. Her iron-grey hair was pulled tightly back in a chignon and every so often she nodded as she listened to Bruno. Once or twice she looked over at Adam and he shuffled nervously under her piercing gaze.

After some minutes she came out of the office and walked away. Adam could hear her keys jingling at her waist. Bruno came up and sat beside him. He felt the older man put a hand on his shoulder. "He's going to be okay Adam. Dr Bertrand is the best there is. And this is a private hospital … er … more suited to caring for him than a public one." Adam nodded although he didn't quite understand why. "My team is working on analysing the drugs. As soon as we know what she gave him we can begin a course of treatment. Ah Eloise ..."

Adam looked up as Eloise came running down the corridor. "Papa, you have to see this ..." She held out the laptop that Adam recognized as being from the abandoned garage where they had found Mac.

Bruno nodded to the office. "Let's go in there." Bruno closed the door behind them as Eloise sat the computer on the desk.

"She tried to delete the disque dur, bien sûr!" She gave a little Gallic pout clearly unimpressed by Elsa's attempt at removing data from the computer. Adam found a little smile lighten his lips at Eloise's mix of French and English. It was rather endearing but the smile didn't last long. "Adam, I think this will explain why Mac was so distressed when he saw you." Eloise moved the cursor over an icon and clicked it. Adam was stunned to see his own face appear on the screen. There was bruising on his face. He looked like he had been beaten.

"Qu'est ce que c'est … comment est-ce possible?" Bruno ran a hand across his face,scrubbing at his tight-cut beard as he stared at the image of Adam on the screen.

"_Help me … Mac, please … help me! Tell them what they want to know. Please!"_ The image jumped and Adam's face reappeared again but this time with a blackened eye. Again the face on the screen pleaded, begged, cried for Mac to help it. Adam looked at it closely. There was something not quite right with the image or the voice.

"That's Replicant!" he breathed. He looked at Bruno whose face had gone white. "She used Replicant."

Eloise nodded and closed the computer. "Adam they made it look like they had killed you because he wouldn't talk." Adam sank down onto the hard wooden chair. The look on Mac's face when he saw him came to his mind. Adam could see the anguish and the guilt. Now he understood and a wave of nausea passed over him. "Adam?" He looked up at Eloise. "What is it that Elsa Rossi wanted from him that she was prepared to go to these lengths?"

Adam looked from Eloise to her father and back. He didn't say anything as he hadn't the faintest idea.


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Jo Danville grabbed the phone that Lindsay held out to her. "Adam where the hell are you? Why weren't you on the flight?" She hit the speaker phone button so Lindsay could hear.

"Look Jo, it's kinda' complicated okay? Please you need to listen. Elsa Rossi is on a flight to New Orleans that arrives in two hours. She's travelling under the name of Eliza Roswell – like area 51 Roswell - the alien landing thing – anyway you have to stop her right away."

"Why? What is she planning?" Jo glanced at Lindsay her sixth sense kicking in, and judging by the look on Lindsay's face she was right to be suspicious.

"I don't know yet … I'm working on that ..." They could hear Adam swear under his breath.

"Where's Mac?"

"Mac … er … he's resting."

"Resting? What do you mean resting?" Jo and Lindsay looked at one another as a heavily accented voice in the distance asked Adam to come.

"Look Jo, I haven't got the time to explain. It's complicated. Just please get onto the New Orleans PD or the airline security or … whoever … and just stop Elsa Rossi. I have to go. I'll call you later." The line went dead.

Lindsay looked at Jo. "Is it just me or was that really weird? I mean, weird even for Adam?" Jo nodded slowly as she knew exactly what Lindsay meant.

.

Adam followed Dr Bertrand down the same high ceilinged corridor to the same solid grey door. He waited as she pulled a bunch of keys from a chain on her belt and opened the door. Again she gestured to him to go through and he waited for her while she locked the door behind him. As they approached the glass-fronted office where Bruno and Eloise were waiting, the two burly men dressed in white scrubs looked up from the desk and smiled at him. Adam smiled back.

Bruno got up as they entered the room. "Okay they have completed the analysis. So you know the first drug she used was brotizolam, a sedative and muscle relaxant? The second drug she gave him is sodium thiopental."

Adam frowned. "Sodium thiopental? You think she was using it as a truth serum? That's Hollywood stuff … it doesn't really work like that."

Dr Bertrand nodded. "I agree but it was labelled Pleasure … it would have made him relaxed, more compliant. Subjects tend to be more talkative and cooperative with interrogators. And it has another property when used with the third drug..." Adam shuddered as he recalled that one being labelled pain.

Bruno looked strained. "It doesn't have a name. It is a modified synthetic form of capsaicin."

Adam's jaw dropped. "Capsaicin?" He looked at the five people around him who looked as horrified as he felt. "The active component in chilli peppers?" Bruno nodded. "But that would ..."

"...produce a sensation of burning in any tissue with which it comes into contact? Yes." Dr Bertrand looked disgusted. "Even the smallest dose would have been agonizing." Adam swallowed. Dr Bertrand looked faintly sick as she continued. "The sodium thiopental would have heightened his senses making him more open to the effects. She emptied almost the entire phial but she was very careful. She must have released it a little at a time over a long period as over-exposure to pure capsaicin can result in death."

As soon as she uttered the last word, Adam's mind flew to the last phial, the one broken on the floor. "And the last phial ..?"

Dr Bertrand took a deep breath. "That is where your friend is very lucky." Adam looked at her in horror as lucky would be the last word he would have thought to have used in that situation. "The last phial contained a solution of Brugmansia."

A vague memory flitted across the back of Adam's mind but his overloaded brain couldn't focus. "Remind me what the hell that is."

"Brugmansia is a plant of the Solanaceae family. It's flowers give it it's common name of angel's trumpets." Adam nodded as he had heard of it. "Normally ingestion of Brugmansia causes paralysis, confusion, rapid heart rate, migraine, hallucinations, and in extreme cases death "

"But Mac didn't die ..."

Bruno smiled. "No. That's because he broke Elsa Rossi's nose!" Eloise grinned. Adam stared at them in amazement. "Here is what I think happened. She was using the Brugmansia in combination with that video she made of you to force him to talk. His mind was already confused. He would not have known it wasn't really you. But … she must have got a little too close and Mac head-butted her in the face." Bruno's smile widened as he spoke. "The blood you saw on his face was not his. It was mixed with mucus and I suspect that it contains Elsa Rossi's DNA. My friend Henri Gusdorf said he saw her run from the building with blood pouring down her face and the girl at the airport said she had a large bandage across her nose."

Adam couldn't prevent the smile that spread across his face. "Way to go boss!" Somehow Adam felt proud of his boss as all the people in the room looked admiringly at him.

Bruno nodded in agreement. "I think also that when he did that she broke the syringe. We found the tip still embedded in the catheter and the syringe on the floor. She was only able to use a small amount of the drug which was why he was as we found him. The hallucinations the drugs caused would have been at their height."

Dr Bertrand placed a hand gently on Adam's arm. "He is a lot calmer now and the effects are wearing off. I have given him a mild muscle relaxant - nothing dangerous and I have put him on a nebulizer to assist his breathing. We are working on a course of treatment to counteract the effects of the drugs he's been given but to be honest time is going to be the greatest healer. It will take some weeks before he is fully healed."

"Adam?" Adam looked at Bruno. "You managed to get through to him last time. We think it better that you do so again now." Adam frowned in confusion. "You have to try and find out what she wanted. You have to find out why Elsa Rossi wanted him to talk. What does Mac know that she was prepared to go these extremes?"

.

_Nothing seemed real. It was as though he was wading through mud, pulling down at his limbs, threatening to drag him under. His strength seemed to be draining away and it was all he could do to keep his head above water. His arms ached and he couldn't feel his hands. Every breath he took seemed like fire, scorching his lungs, burning his throat. The slightest movement was agony. And all the time images hammered at his mind like demons pressing their sharpened claws into his skull. The past. The present. The future. What was real? What was merely the product of his deranged mind? His mind? Was he losing his mind? Was that why he was here? Locked up. Because he was crazy? Where was here? The questions came too quick for him to assimilate. And through it all came a voice. It called to him, begging him, pleading with him. He fought his way through the fog. He didn't know why but he had to see the person. He had to make it back to ask for their forgiveness, to get them to put an end his misery, to beg them for absolution._

Adam could see he was struggling. "That's it. Open your eyes. There you go. Hey boss. Good to see you back with us." Adam waited as Mac blinked in the soft light of the small comfortable room, his eyes darting around taking in their surroundings. To Adam's mind he looked like a caged animal, wary and apprehensive. Adam had been surprised when he had first entered the room. He had been expecting another cell with padded walls and floor, and harsh lights in wire cages but this room was quite the opposite. The walls were painted in a soft shade of blue. The bed was almost an antique, an ornate iron bed frame with a deep mattress, soft blue covers and what seemed like a dozen pillows protecting the fragile body in their midst. The flooring looked new but was hard and clinical designed to be easily cleaned but it was softened by the drapes that picked up the blues mixing them with soft pinks and greens giving the room a homely feel. Strangely there wasn't a chair so Adam nervously perched himself on the edge of the wide bed. He hardly dared to look at the man before him so instead he stared down at the black and purple bruises that ringed his wrists and the huge black and red bulging mark in the crook of his arm and the IV on the back of his hand. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look up into Mac's eyes, only just managing to prevent himself from gasping at the pain and confusion he saw there

"Adam?" His voice was hesitant. Adam almost laughed at his next question. "Are you real?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm real. What you saw before was a copy, a computer generated image. That wasn't me." Adam could see Mac's eyes searching his face looking for the truth. "I'm okay. They didn't hurt me. I promise."

Adam's heart clenched as Mac closed his eyes and let out a deep ragged breath. He could just hear the whispered words, "Thank God." Then after a moment, "I'm sorry."

"Mac, you don't have to be ..."

"No … I'm sorry that you ... had to see that … to see me … like that ..." Adam was horrified to see a look of utter shame cast a dark shadow across Mac's face. His eyes seemed to clench tighter in an effort to banish the mortification he felt.

"Mac! You do not have to be sorry for anything. It's a miracle you're alive. What happened was because of the drugs but that is not important now." The urgency in Adam's voice forced Mac to make the effort to open his eyes once more. "Mac we have to know why. Elsa Rossi has flown to New Orleans. Why has she gone there? What did she want from you? Please, you have to try to remember. We have to try to stop her."

A strange look came over Mac's face and he turned his head away. Shakily he raised a hand to his face. He groaned in agony as he fought with his memories. _What was real? What was fantasy? So many images, some from so long ago. So many memories. So much pain. What had she asked? What did she want? He could hear himself scream as the pain had burned through him. The same questions over and over again._ "I think I told her Adam. God forgive me but I think I told her." Adam thought his heart would break at the anguish in Mac's voice.

"Told her what Mac? What do you know that is so important? Mac please let me help. Tell me what you told her. Is this to do with Stella?"

"Stella?" Slowly Mac lowered his hand and looked at Adam strangely. "Stella's in New Orleans?" Adam felt a little confused at this but then a tremor of smile crossed Mac's lips. "Of course, of course she is … no I don't think this has anything to do with Stella." Adam felt an enormous sense of relief. He watched fascinated as Mac picked at the cover of the bed with his hand. He had never seen Mac demonstrate the slightest sign of weakness or nervousness. As he cleared his throat, Adam looked up into his boss' face once more. Adam could see the guilt that was written there. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." For a moment they looked at one another, neither able to say anything and then Mac spoke quietly, distantly, his words seeming to come from deep within. "I tried not to. I really tried but … I think … I think I told her … about Marine Two, Wild Card and a man called Jonas."

**END OF PART ONE**

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**A/N: Part Two next week. Have a great weekend. Thank you to my faithful reviewers tlh45, smuffly, CSIflea, Swarovski and guest and thank you for reading.**


	10. Chapter 8

**A/N: For GUEST. Additional disclaimer : the author cannot be held responsible for any accidents or injuries caused during the reading of this story but ... **author does small happy dance as she realizes she must be getting better at writing suspense!** ... thanks so much for reading and reviewing. And now for ...  
**

**PART TWO**

**Chapter 8**

Adam dragged his suitcase towards the exit. He felt as though he was on auto-pilot and he could have sworn that his suitcase was getting heavier with every step. The doors swished open and he followed the large group of weary, red-eyed passengers out through the arrivals gate. As the crowds thinned Adam looked up and ground to a halt. The last thing he had expected was a welcoming committee. Slowly he walked up to them.

"Adam!" To his surprise Jo threw her arms around him. "Are you okay? You look exhausted."

"I'm … er … okay. Thanks Jo."

"You're sure?" He nodded. Quietly she asked. "How is he?"

"They're taking good care of him." Jo looked at him hard searching his face. She didn't like what she saw but she didn't say anything. It wasn't the time or the place. Jo turned to the man standing behind her. "Adam, this is Special Agent Walsh of the FBI." The saturnine looking man with a buzz-cut wearing a dark suit nodded as he looked Adam up and down but he didn't say anything nor extend a hand. Jo bristled at his rudeness. "And this is Jeff Hamilton of Interpol, our new liaison officer." The second man was as fair as the other was dark. He broke into a broad smile and shook Adam's hand enthusiastically.

"I can't thank you enough for your help Mr Ross. I realize that you must be exhausted but time is of the essence." Adam stared at Jeff Hamilton in surprise taking in the mismatched slacks, blazer and loud tie. The man looked more like a used car salesman than an Interpol agent. "I know it's asking a lot after what you've been through but every detail is vital. Perhaps you would be so kind as to go through everything you know with us en route."

"En route … ?" Adam looked around the group and their suitcases. "Why where are we going?"

Jo smiled as she grabbed the handle of her suitcase. "New Orleans."

"New Orleans? Why are we going to New Orleans?"

Adam cringed slightly as Special Agent Walsh of the FBI answered, his voice deadly serious. "Because in less than twenty-four hours Mr Ross the Vice President of the United States will be landing there to open a multi-million dollar urban renewal project. Now we have a plane waiting for us. So if you will please hurry." He spun round on one foot and strode away. Hamilton, and Jo threw Adam an apologetic look and turned to follow him.

Adam was left standing open-mouthed for a second until he realized he was expected to go too. He grabbed his suitcase and ran after them. "New Orleans . Right, of course. Sure why not?" Idly he wondered if they would have time to see Stella.

.

.

.

Forty minutes later they were in the air. Adam stared at the inside of the jet in amazement. He had never been in a private jet. A young woman with curly copper-coloured hair teetered down the aisle with a tray and handed out coffee in elegant porcelain cups. "Just call if you need anything else." She smiled at Adam and disappeared back to the galley at the rear of the plane.

Adam sipped the coffee gratefully and took a large sugary pastry from the tray that Hamilton pushed towards him across the small table sandwiched between their seats. Special Agent Walsh merely looked a little disdainful and declined the sugary treats. Adam didn't care. He was tired and he was hungry and more than anything he wanted to know why he was sitting in a private jet on the way to New Orleans when he should be at home taking a shower and a long nap. As soon as the thought entered his head, Adam's stomach flipped as, in fact, he realized that he didn't want to be at home at all. He realized that he wanted to be back in Paris with Mac and Bruno and Eloise. He hoped that they were looking after Mac. He knew he could trust Bruno and Eloise, and Dr Bertrand and even those two male nurses who he had discovered were gentle and kind despite looking like two street brawlers. But Adam felt responsible and he had hated having to leave Mac there even though he had had no choice.

"Adam?" Adam looked up at Jo. He hadn't realized he had been day-dreaming and now they were all looking at him expectantly as though he had to explain himself but for reasons he couldn't explain he felt angry. Angry that they clearly knew more than he did, angry that they felt the need to drag him off one flight onto another, angry that they had dragged him away from looking after Mac. And more than anything angry that he had let Elsa Rossi get to Mac right under his nose when he had promised. He had promised. He felt tears sting the back of his eyes and as he looked at Walsh he felt the anger well up inside him like water about to burst a dam.

Walsh didn't hide his disdain or his impatience. "So are you going to tell us what this Mac Taylor supposedly knows about all this?"

The dam burst.

"No I am not. Not until you tell me why we are on this plane?" He glared at Walsh. "Why are we going to New Orleans? What does this have to do with the Vice President or multi-million dollar projects or why Elsa Rossi tortured Mac Taylor half to death to extract information from him?" Jo stared at Adam in horror. Never had she seen him lose his cool like that and speak so fiercely or so forcefully. She was both dumb-founded at his sudden outburst and at the harsh words he had used. _Tortured … half to death?_ Fortunately Hamilton intervened.

"Quite right Mr Ross. I apologise. Let me update you on what we know and then perhaps you would be so good as to … er … fill in the blanks so to speak." Hamilton looked pointedly at Walsh who leaned back in his seat sullenly. Adam realized that despite their appearances, Jeff Hamilton was in charge of this particular operation and Walsh was reporting to him not the other way round.

Adam found himself letting out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He smiled and nodded gratefully to Hamilton. "Thank you and … please call me Adam."

Hamilton leaned back in his seat and rested his elbows on the arms of the seat. He steepled his fingers. "As you know we are very keen to get our hands on Elsa Rossi. We have been looking very closely into her business and personal life. Apart from her communications to members of the Forum, she has also provided several other people with sensitive information. One of these men is Jacob Lyle. He is … for want of a better word … a religious zealot. He has quite a following and is a very rich and powerful man. We have reason to believe that he has been buying information from Elsa Rossi for some time." He took a breath. "Now our esteemed colleagues here at the FBI have been keeping a close eye on Mr Lyle and they believe that he is plotting an attack against the Vice President to raise awareness of their cause and to rain down divine retribution on what they perceive to be some of his more liberal policies."

"Why the Vice President, not the President?" Adam asked.

"They were once acquainted." Walsh spoke quietly. "We think there's an element of personal vendetta there too. Also the security for the Vice President isn't as ..." he searched for the right word. "... intense as for a presidential visit. He's an easier target."

Lieutenant Hamilton nodded. "Tomorrow the Vice President is visiting the Greenacres project in New Orleans. He will arrive by helicopter, be driven to open the local community centre and inaugurate a new hospital wing. He will lunch with local business men and city officials then visit the new school before leaving for Washington. Now I am sure you are aware the Vice President's helicopter is known as Marine Two but with only hearsay and suspicion we can hardly call off a major political event. We need facts."

Jo leaned forward. "After you called, I got in contact with the FBI and Interpol and told them what you told me. The FBI got a team to New Orleans to pick up Elsa Rossi as she got off the flight but ..." She sighed. "... she must have somehow anticipated that and she gave them the slip. They ended up following a double – she was dressed the same as Elsa. She even had a bandage across her nose." Jo looked irritated beyond words. "They lost her."

Hamilton nodded. "Given that you mentioned Marine Two, clearly Elsa Rossi was trying to find out something about the Vice President's visit and it seems logical that the information is for Jacob Lyle but we don't understand how Detective Taylor fits in or why she ...er … used him to get that information. And as for this Jonas and Wild Card ..." Hamilton looked blank. "So we're hoping you can help fit this together for us."

Adam nodded. His mind was whirling. Without realizing what he was doing, images sorted themselves into sequences, links formed between people and events, words that he thought were unrelated slotted themselves into place and a picture began to emerge. "So that's what he meant." Walsh looked as though he was about to say something but Hamilton raised a hand to stop him. He could see that he had to give Adam time. He knew that Adam Ross held the key to what Jacob Lyle was planning and why he had paid Elsa Rossi to do what she had done.

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Arthur Wescott looked at himself in the mirror and fastened a diamond studded pin to his silk tie. He ran a hand over his neatly combed and lacquered hair. He peered at the mirror to make sure that the black dye had done it's job. He wasn't quite ready to admit to going grey yet. Satisfied he did up the buttons on his jacket. He was about to dine with the finest that the local business community had to offer, not to mention city and state officials, all present to congratulate him on bringing the multi-million dollar project to their city. They would all benefit from the investment and the extra trade it would bring in and none more so than Arthur Wescott. He stood to make a large fortune. He twisted sideways to check the cut of his Italian suit and smiled to himself. He adjusted the cuff of his shirt and twisted the ornate antique ring on his finger. Perfect.

The doorbell rang and he looked at his watch. It was a little early for the cab he had called. Irritated he quickly made for the stairs with the intention of making them wait. He had ordered the cab for five-thirty and it was only five-twenty. As he flung open the door, his mouth dropped open. He wasn't sure whether it was because the woman standing there was pointing a gun at his chest or because of the large white bandage taped across her nose.

"Back inside the house, Mr Wescott," she demanded with a clipped British accent.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he stammered.

"Go through to your study please," she ordered flicking the gun a little to her right. Arthur Wescott looked nervously at the gun and the woman holding it. There was something in her eyes that told him she wouldn't hesitate to use it so he did as he was told. He backed away and she stepped inside locking the door behind her.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to go to your desk and sit down." They walked into the large, ornate study with it's oak panelling and it's highly-polished desk and leather chairs. Wescott complied and seated himself at his desk. Elsa Rossi sat down opposite him and crossed her legs. The muzzle of the gun never left his chest. She placed an envelope on the desk and gestured for him to open it. Wescott pulled the envelope towards him and opened it. His breath caught in his throat as he saw a picture of himself next to a handsome young man with bright blue eyes, soft curly hair and an engaging smile. He looked at the woman opposite him.

"Who are you?"

"That is none of your concern. The only thing that you need to be concerned about is whether or not that picture is published in tomorrow's paper along with the appropriate headlines." She emphasized the word '_appropriate_.'

Arthur Wescott paled and closed his eyes. "What do you want?"

Elsa Rossi smiled and placed a small red lacquered box on the table.

.


	11. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Adam took a deep breath. "Okay." He looked at the people around him. "I think I have an idea of what might be going down but I need you to confirm a couple of things for me." They all nodded. "First of all, does Marine Two still fly the standard three-man crew, two ground reception crew, three machines in a shell format?" Hamilton, Walsh and Jo stared at Adam as though he was speaking a foreign language but Special Agent Walsh nodded.

"Yes but how the hell did you know that?"

"So things haven't changed much since Mac's day? They still use the same procedures?" Again Walsh nodded.

"What do you mean since Mac's day?" Jo looked as surprised as Walsh.

"What? Oh … er … Mac did a tour on Marine Two after Beirut and before he went ..." Adam hesitated looking a little uncomfortable. "... onto other duties." Jo's eyes widened but before she could ask anything else Adam continued. "Okay Special Agent Walsh, you need to get through to Marine Two command and let them know that they should expect some form of … _attack_ … while they are on the ground during the vice-president's tour."

Walsh gawked at him. "Attack?"

"Well, not necessarily an attack but something that would prevent them from flying in and extracting him. Fire, smoke, bomb, any sort of diversion." Everyone was amazed at Adam's nonchalance. "Now concerning Jonas I am sure that everyone on the visit has been screened for security purposes?" Walsh nodded. "Can you get me a list of everyone on the authorized list?" Walsh nodded again.

"Adam who is this Jonas? We've searched ..." Adam held up a hand to stop Jo.

"Jonas is an expert in kidnapping and ransom. He is the man that is most likely in charge of Wild Card."

"And what exactly is Wild Card?" Hamilton asked.

"It's the code name used by United States Marine Corps for an attempt to abduct a person of importance while on board of one of their aircraft."

Jo looked astounded. "An attempt to kidnap the Vice-President? And Mac knows about this?"

"Yeah, because he's the one who tested it."

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_Beginning of July 1984_

_Colonel Jackson Sanders sat at his desk as the confident young Marine walked in and saluted. "At ease Lieutenant." The dark haired, young man immediately stood at ease though everything about him said just the opposite. He was lean, alert and just a little wary. Sanders suppressed a smile as he continued to read the file. "Your conduct has been exemplary." He stood up and tapped the file. "According to your commanding officer you're a natural leader, above average intelligence, a fine marksman, an excellent strategist … in fact, so much so that you pointed out several failings in his plan of attack during last months training manoeuvres!" He was amused to see the young Marine's eyes flick nervously towards him and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "And also you're something of a science buff?" he finished his voice rising in a question as he circled behind the young man. _

"_Er …yes Sir … I do like it … science that is Sir." Sanders smiled as he could hear the confusion in the young man's voice and knew exactly what he was thinking. What am I doing here and where is this conversation going? Sir?_

"_Don't turn around but tell me what is on the wall behind you to your left?" Sander's stood specifically at his left shoulder so he couldn't try to look out of the corner of his eye._

"_A glass-fronted bookcase with a model of a nineteenth century sloop and a copy of George Washington crossing the Delaware above it."_

_Damn! Schaeffer was right. The boy is good, thought Sanders to himself. "How do you know it's a copy and not the original?"_

"_Because the original is in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Sir." The Sir was said with a slight question._

_Sanders smiled. "I understand you were wounded in Beirut. I take it you are fully recovered?"_

"_Yes Sir."_

"_Excellent. I have a somewhat unusual mission for you and I think you fulfil the requirements admirably." Sanders could see the young man's curiosity was piqued. "You are being temporarily assigned to Marine Helicopter Squadron One, as Head of Security on Marine Two effective immediately." Sanders smiled openly at the look of horror on the young man's face. He picked up a thick file from his desk. "Since the assassination attempt in 81 security is of the utmost importance. This is supposedly our response if there were to be an abduction attempt while a person of importance is on board one of our helicopters." He held it out. "I think it's a crock of shit and I want you to prove it." He watched the young man take the file and arch an eyebrow at the title stamped on the file._

"_Wild Card."_

"_Come up with a descent plan and you can have your pick of assignments when you're done." Sanders waited to see the response. A smile tugged at the corners of the young man's mouth. "You have three months to observe operations, make recommendations, point out flaws ... Hell rewrite the whole damn thing if you have to. Then there will be a full blown exercise using Marine Two. I get to play the vice-president for the day so don't screw up. I hate being man-handled." Sanders jabbed a finger at the young man and he saw the smile tug at the corners of his lips again. _

"_That will be all Lieutenant! You can collect your paperwork from my adjoint." _

"_Yes sir. Thank you Sir." The young Marine saluted and executed a perfect about-face tucking the file under his arm. Sanders regained his seat and put the young man's file on the corner of his desk. No point in returning it to personnel just yet. He rather suspected that in three months time he might need to promote him to Captain Mac Taylor._

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Jonas sat on the motel bed with his hands behind his head waiting. He was good at waiting. He didn't jump when the phone rang. He eased himself off the bed and picked up the receiver. He didn't speak. He listened to the voice on the other end.

"At two fifteen the target will leave the school and cross the yard. There is a narrow gate leading to a vegetable garden planted by the children. Our man will accompany the target to the photo shoot with the principal of the school. The paths are narrow so there will only be a minimal escort. The main group will be forced to remain in the yard. You need to ensure that the service gate at the far end will be open. Should the diversion fail M2 will land on the playing field opposite at two thirty. You have a fifteen minute window. Understood?"

"Understood." Jonas replaced the receiver and sat back on the bed. He picked up the laptop computer and studied the map of the area. He selected an option for satellite view and the street view. He checked his watch. He would do a run-through once the evening traffic had died down. He got up and opened the connecting door. Jonas nodded at the six men waiting beyond. "We're good to go."


	12. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 **

The plane had barely touched down before it drew to a halt and their flight attendant lowered the steps wishing them a good day as they descended the short flight of steps. Adam was glad of the soft ocean breeze that blew across the landing strip. It was almost midday and the sun was bearing down. He blinked in the bright sunlight and lifted a hand to shade his eyes. A familiar figure stood waiting for them, her soft golden curls blowing in the breeze. Slowly he walked up to her.

"Adam!" Stella threw her arms around him. " Are you okay? You look exhausted." He gave a half smile as she had used the exact same words as Jo earlier that day.

"I'm okay. Thanks Stella."

"You're sure?" He nodded. Quietly she asked. "How is Mac?"

"He's doing okay. Don't worry. They're taking good care of him." Stella looked as doubtful as Jo had. No matter how he tried he couldn't keep his own apprehension from his face. But before she could press him further they were joined by the others. They piled into two cars. Hamilton, Jo and Adam joined Stella while Walsh took a separate car to the Bureau's temporary headquarters.

Stella glanced in the review mirror. "So where do you want to start?" She looked expectantly at Jo but to her surprise, it was Adam that spoke.

"Walsh, the guy from the FBI is trying to warn the Bureau about the impending attack on Marine 2. There are only two possibilities. Either they try to take Vice-President when he lands or takes off … or … they disable Marine 2 while it is waiting. Now according to Walsh, they are landing near the school, depositing the Vice-President but they will not remain there. They are scheduled to fly to the naval air station at Callendar Field for refuelling and then take a short flight to an area of open-space near the nature reserve until it is time to pick him up again. So I checked the areas on Google. I think we can rule out an attack at the air field and according to what Mac told me I think an attack near the school would be pretty impossible. Security is too tight and there are too many variables. I'm going with the waiting ground near the nature reserve. Walsh is going to ask for additional support from the Marine contingent stationed at the joint base at Callendar field so I think we can leave that to them. Our priority is to find Jonas. And to do that we need to find Elsa Rossi."

Stella nodded as she turned out of the airport and headed uptown. "And exactly how do we do that?"

"I've been thinking." The occupants of the car looked at Jo, Hamilton almost strangling himself with the seat-belt to turn around to look at her. "Why would Elsa Rossi fly here? Why would she come to the scene of the crime so to speak?"

Hamilton frowned. "Good point."

"I think she's here to be paid."

Adam shrugged not convinced. "Yeah but she could get money wired anywhere."

Jo shook her head. "I don't think so. She knows she's on every agency's watch-list and she's bound to know that the FBI are looking into Jacob Lyle. She wouldn't take the risk." Hamiliton nodded gravely clearly in agrement with her.

Stella looked impressed. "It wouldn't be too hard for them to trace any transactions. You think she's going for hard currency."

"Yes and I also think that she maybe here for something else."

"What's that?"

"Jonas."

.

.

.

Jacob Lyle sat in a large chair with a large crystal glass in one hand. In his early fifties he was a large man with iron grey hair and a short neat beard. His ice blue eyes shone as he handed the glass to a demure young woman in a long white shift. "Leave us." The young woman bobbed her head and disappeared through a set of double-doors behind him as Elsa Rossi approached. "Is all going according to plan?"

Elsa Rossi eased herself into a chair facing his and adjusted her posture as she realized that the visitor's chair was distinctly lower than Lyle's own. She knew that Lyle did it on purpose to make sure he was always in the dominant position just as he had positioned himself with his back to the sun that was now shining in her face forcing her to squint. Her nose was still painful but at least she had rid herself of the bandage and the make-up did much to hide the discolouration although it was still swollen. She smiled to herself as she thought about Mac Taylor dying a slow death in that abandoned garage. She hoped that she had given him enough of the Brugmansia to make his last moments on earth as painful as possible. "Of course. Wescott has been told what to do and Jonas has been given all the security plans. He has a fifteen minute window from the moment the target leaves the school-yard and enters the garden. Wescott will ensure that they are all near the garden gate before he puts the plan into action. M2 is scheduled to land on the playing field but we have a diversion in place."

"Can we count on Wescott to do as he's told?" Elsa nodded knowing that the vain man would do anything to keep his little liaison quiet. "And you sure it will work? Is your information reliable?"

Elsa smiled. "My source is impeccable. He assures me that there are only four potential weaknesses with helicopters and he was … kind enough … to detail them for me." Something in the way she said it made Lyle shift uncomfortably. He was a hard man and he was quite prepared to go to extreme lengths to set his country back on the paths of righteousness and point out to it's government the error of their ways but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. He did it because it was necessary. For the good of the people. Elsa Rossi did it because she enjoyed it. Jacob Lyle hoped her source hadn't suffered unnecessarily but then he shrugged the thought away. There were bound to be casualties in war. "Now unless there is anything else … I'd like to be paid."

Lyle nodded and indicated a small black box on the glass table by her chair. Elsa Rossi opened it and smiled. She plucked one of the items out of the box and ran it across the glass. Lyle cringed at the noise it made. Elsa smiled at the sharp line left in the glass top. She replaced the diamond in the box. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

.

.

.

Neville Rington was nervous yet excited. He could barely contain himself as he pulled up his Toyota Prius in the almost empty parking lot of the nature reserve. He looked around to see if there were any cars he recognized. There were none. Only a couple of tags from out of the state, probably tourists, a large people carrier with bars in the back for a dog, so most likely a family out walking, and a nondescript white van which was unusual. He pulled his bag from the passenger seat, got out and closed the door quietly behind him. He locked the car and headed for the gap in the trees. He swung the bag carefully onto his shoulder but not before taking out his most precious of possessions. The Swarovski 8x32 EL with it's pioneering open-bridge design. Lightweight and compact, it fit perfectly into his palm so he could adjust the focus with only one hand. With the doubler in his pocket that could turn it into a spotting scope it was perfect for this kind of activity. He trotted down the path, not too quickly to ensure his approach was silent. He didn't want anything to go wrong. If he was lucky he was going to make history.

He walked determined for several minutes before turning off the many path and pushing his way through the undergrowth. He listened carefully but could only hear the sound of his own rapid breathing, the rustle of leaves as the light breeze filtered it's way through the branches and the call of numerous birds. He recognized the call of the red-winged blackbird as it cried out in alarm at his approach but he didn't pause. He just carried on on the tiny path that was now as familiar to him as his own back yard. After a few more minutes he ducked into the bushes bending his head low. He pulled aside a curtain and entered the hide. He reached out to unwind a cord and a flap in the almost perfectly concealed hide lowered to give a magnificent view across the wetlands park. He raised the Swarovski 8x32 EL to his eyes and swept the binoculars slowly across the vista. He spotted numerous snowy egrets, a great blue heron, some white ibis and wood ducks as well as blackbirds, buntings and a large number of moorhen. But as magnificent as they were, they were not what he was here to see today. That morning his friend had called to say that he had spotted a very rare bird heading north in his direction. Neville Rington was hoping to spot a Long-billed Dowitcher. One had never been recorded in the park and it was unusual to see one this far south at this time of year as they normally migrated in the early spring heading for their breeding grounds in the north. He wondered if perhaps it had been injured delaying its migration. It would be a real coup to report a sighting to his local bird-watching group.

He swung the Swarovski binoculars back and forth seeking out the slightest movement. He had been there already over an hour when he took a break for coffee and sandwiches. As he munched away thoughtfully he stared out across the wetlands awed by it's beauty. High in the sky a hawk of some kind circled looking for prey. He lifted the binoculars to identify it when a movement at the far side of the lake caught his eye. Someone was making their way furtively towards the water. He put down his sandwich to see who it was. They were too far away so he attached the doubler to one lens and turned the binoculars sideways to use it like a scope. He moved it around trying to find the man in the viewfinder. It wouldn't do to have someone beat him and spot the Dowitcher before him. He squinted as the bushes moved and quivered wondering if it was his arch-enemy, Ronald. He was surprised when two men came into view. The first was completely bald and had dark wrap around glasses. A large tattoo was visible on the side of the his neck. The second had greasy black hair pulled into a ponytail and was carrying a large holdall. Neville swallowed nervously. _Who were these men? Oologists?_ Neville hated them. _Egg collectors! Thieves!_ He gripped the scope tighter. Then he frowned. _No._ Both men were carrying rifles – assault rifles. They stopped and knelt down pointing towards the flock of birds on the lake. Then they opened the bag they had brought with them and pulled out a long tube Neville's throat went dry as he saw what it was. Other than birdwatching, his next favourite activity was playing video games and the item he was looking at had figured prominently in one of his favourites. It was an RPG launcher. _What the hell were they doing with grenades?_

Neville Rington pulled a phone from his pocket and dialled 911.


	13. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The main office was open-space, quite different to the New York lab. There were two sets of desks grouped near the windows on the left-hand side separated from the rest of the room by green baize dividers and pot plants. Jo was sat at the end of a long oval conference table that dominated the right hand side of the room as Adam walked up and placed a coffee and a sandwich next to her. She whispered a grateful thank you. The office was strangely quiet. The double doors at both ends had been closed and the other five people waiting were sat or stood around a large monitor and two white boards, the first of which had a large picture of Elsa Rossi; Jo couldn't help noticing that the men in the room kept glancing at the picture. She had to admit Elsa Rossi was beautiful and very photogenic. She stared out at the room with dark almond eyes, her long dark hair flowing around her shoulders. The photograph was worthy of a professional fashion shoot. Jo smiled to herself. She rather preferred the picture next to it, a surveillance shot of Elsa at the airport, the one with her hair cut short, a baggy unflattering jacket and a bandage taped across her nose. Way to go Mac, she thought to herself. But thoughts of Mac made her stomach turn. She glanced over at Adam who was engrossed in whatever search he was doing on his computer while idly munching at a sandwich. His words from earlier came back to her and she shuddered.

Stella pulled up another white-board with a large scale map pinned to it. A fluorescent green line marked the route and a red dotted line indicated security perimeters. Blue and yellow dots indicated the positions of individual security details, black triangles the command post and purple stars ancillary services. It looked like a whole class of pre-schoolers had been let loose with a bag of coloured stickers. Jo dreaded to think what it would look like if this was a presidential visit as she attempted to memorize the salient features of the plan.

The double doors at one end of the room opened and Special Agent Walsh strode in. Stella introduced him to the rest of the team. After a brief exchange of pleasantries he turned to Adam. "HQ concur with your analysis; they've agreed to deploy extra men at all landing and take-off sites. A contingent of Marines are being deployed to the nature reserve as a precaution." He offered Adam a hint of smile. Adam found himself smiling back. Perhaps the icy agent was thawing a little. "I also have information on Jonas." He handed a slim file to Stella.

Stella opened the file, glanced through the pages and then stared back at Walsh. He shrugged. She turned and pinned a thin, grey line-drawing to the third empty board showing a picture of a man with short hair, deep set eyes, a slim nose and thin lips. Jo and Adam together with the rest of Stella's team stared at the picture. Each was searching for some defining feature but it was so generic they were all thinking that it could be anyone. Stella grabbed a marker and wrote a list of words down one side of the board. 'Caucasian, early fifties, dark hair, approximately 5''11'', missing fingers on left hand, no known associates.' She turned to face them.

Frank Mitford, a tall, handsome-in-a-rugged-kind-of-way man who was perched on the edge of a cabinet waved a hand at the board. "That's it?" he asked incredulous. He turned to look at Walsh. "You can't be serious. An professional hit-man and that's all you've got on him?"

Walsh looked apologetic. "That's all they gave me. Well ..." He gestured to the file Stella was holding. "... apart from the long list of kidnappings he may or may not have been involved in and he's not a hit-man. He's a professional kidnapper."

Stella looked up from the file. "Most of the kidnappings on this list say suspected."

Walsh waved a hand. "Most victims don't even report the kidnapping. Only a handful have involved the FBI. There was no negotiation. He always contacted them by email or pre-recorded message. They pay, they get their kid or spouse back." He looked at Hamilton.

The Interpol chief shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't be of much help either. We have not been officially approached by any member country so we are not actively hunting Jonas. However he is on our radar as a wanted man but as there is so little to go on, our file is even thinner than the one you're holding. We know that he is the mastermind, that he rarely gets involved in the action. Victims that are returned are usually unable to give any details about their abduction. They are nearly always drugged."

Walsh nodded in agreement. "His preferred method of sedating his victims is Ketamine so they are unable to identify where they were being held, how many people there were, or even how long they were held. They are always dumped in a remote location, the coordinates of which are sent once the ransom money has been transferred."

"He has the money transferred digitally?" This was from a young African- American woman with a a large smile and flamboyant earrings. Jo noted the rather shiny diamond sitting on her left hand. Recently engaged, she thought, and most likely to Frank Mitford perched on the filing cabinet right behind her who was wearing a shirt almost as flamboyant as his fiancée's earrings. They made a sweet couple. "You weren't able to trace it?"

Walsh shook his head again. "No, apparently the money goes into an account but before any trace can be fixed, it goes out of that account into a dozen other accounts which then transfer it on and so forth." He lifted his hands helplessly. "The closest they ever came to catching him was when he took the son of a Californian business-man. The boy was an asthmatic so he gave him less of the drug. The description we have came from that boy but the kid was only nine and traumatized by the whole experience. I'm afraid that's all we have on him."

"That's not true." The entire room turned to look at Adam. Jo and Stella were surprised to see his face take on a hard look. His eyes burned angrily. "Mac said that Elsa Rossi asked about him. She wanted to know if Mac knew Jonas' true identity. Did the NYPD have a file on him? Had his fingerprints been identified? Did they have his DNA?"

"Why would she want to know that?" Jo muttered almost to herself.

Adam waved his pen in the air. "Here's what I think." On realizing that everyone was looking at him in surprise, a shadow of insecurity crossed his face. "Well … I might be wrong. It may be completely off ..."

"No Adam. Go ahead. You've been right so far." Adam turned to stare at Jo. Stella nodded at him encouragingly. He took a deep breath.

"Okay. I think that the reason that Elsa was asking Mac about Jonas was that he was linked to one of our cases. I think Jonas may have botched a kidnap attempt in New York and ended up killing the victim which would put him on our radar. It's the only thing that seems to make sense. I've been looking through our recent cases and about five months ago, they pulled a body from the river, the wife of a rich advertising executive."

Jo leaned forward. "Kathleen Mortimer? We ran into a dead end on that case. Danny and Lindsay are still working it." Jo looked at Adam. "Her husband, Gordon Mortimer said that she just disappeared with no explanation. "

"Right. But what if it wasn't just a random disappearance. What if it was a kidnap attempt? If I remember rightly they weren't able to find a motive for the killing but Danny and Lindsay did work out at what point she went into the water. They pulled CCTV footage, found the van that dumped her and traced it back to a nearby warehouse. The van was found burnt out. They processed the warehouse and found evidence that Kathleen Mortimer and at least two other individuals had been there. But what is relevant here is that there was DNA trace from a water bottle discarded at the scene together with some fingerprints neither of which got any hits in our usual databases."

"Jonas?" asked Stella looking hopeful.

"I'm thinking that's why Elsa was asking Mac about him? I think she wanted to know if we had connected Jonas to the kidnapping of Kathleen Mortimer."

"If it is him, then this is just the break we've been looking for." Walsh looked admiringly at Adam. "Nice thinking." Definitely thawing, thought Adam.

"Right, I'm going to get in touch with Danny and Lindsay and get them to send over anything they have." Jo got up.

"Jo, use my office." Stella offered. Jo smiled and left. "Okay in the meantime, where are we on tracing Elsa Rossi?"

A serious-looking young man with short-cropped ginger hair and freckles answered as he scanned the room over the top of his glasses. "Not a lot, I'm afraid. The young woman who was masquerading as her at the airport was told some story about how Elsa was trying to avoid her abusive husband." Gabriel March pushed his glasses further up his nose. "She was completely taken in. They swapped coats. They were going to meet up in the airport car-park when she was stopped by airport security. Of course, there was no sign of Elsa. CCTV shows she took a cab into the centre of town which dropped her at the Ritz Carlton. But no one answering her description checked in."

Stella nodded. "Okay, check out all the other hotels ..."

"Already doing that … nothing so far. I've got someone checking B&B's too."

"Okay. What about the man who's paying her? Jacob Lyle? "

Walsh looked up. "We have his compound under surveillance but there has been no reported activity in the last forty-eight hours other than the usual deliveries."

"Compound?" Adam turned to look at Walsh, his face registering confusion.

Walsh looked slightly disgusted. "Well that's basically what it is. He calls it a spiritual retreat and learning centre but what goes on there is more physical than spiritual if you get my drift. Jacob Lyle is a man who likes power. He is a self-proclaimed guru who surrounds himself with vulnerable young people and claims to be leading them on the paths of righteousness and peace. Or some such bullshit."

"And let me guess. They have to spend a lot of money to get on this path." Frank Mitford looked thoroughly disgusted.

Walsh shrugged. "Well, he's a very wealthy man. His family were well off. He was the only child. He's made several advantageous marriages and he had fingers in a lot of pies including, at one time, the family business of our vice-president."

"That's how they know one another?"

"Yes, but their paths parted ways many years ago – you know before he got into the guru thing! Lyle has made no secret of his dislike for the current government or it's presidential team. He has accused them of corruption, selling America out, relaxing rules on abortion, immigration, healthcare, the environment, not meeting the needs of true Americans etcetera, etcetera, etcetera," he finished with a flourish leaving everyone with no doubt on his opinion of the man.

"So where does this leave us?" Adam could tell Stella was getting frustrated. "Lyle is in his compound. We still have no firm ID on Jonas. Elsa Rossi is in the wind and ..." She was interrupted by a loud bleep from Adam's computer.

"Aha!" Adam stuck his pen between his teeth and jabbed at the keyboard as though attempting to subdue it. He looked at the screen. The pen fell out of his mouth. "With the John Doe in drawer 23 in your morgue." He grinned as everyone stared at him. Stella was about to ask why when she realized something important. She hadn't given him access to their files.

"You hacked our system?" fumed Stella.

Adam looked a little startled and blushed nicely. "Hacked? Me? I … er … just er … well you were busy … and I didn't want to hold things up ... so I just … er … " He made his fingers walk across the keyboard. He offered Stella his cutest lost puppy look. Stella raised her eyes heavenward.

"Well ..." Stella glared at him. "John Doe … drawer 23?"

"Oh er … yes … right. Well I just ran the database of official ID's for the vice-president's visit tomorrow against various databases including yours and according to this your John Doe is supposed to be taking official photographs at two-fifteen at the elementary school tomorrow afternoon." Adam tapped a couple of keys and two pictures appeared on the main monitor, one clearly taken in autopsy and the other from an official press pass claiming to belong to a Hank Felton.

Everyone turned to look at the screen except Lacey who turned to look at Adam. "I had an extra layer of encryption put on our system." Adam shifted nervously as he realized that Lacey was glaring at him. "Damn, she said you were good," she uttered in amazement. Adam grinned sheepishly.


	14. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks to my faithful reviewers tlh45, smuffly, swarovski and guests (sorry about the uncomfortable reading conditions)! You have no idea how much the reviews mean and to know that there are still people out there reading this who are still finding it comprehensible. Hopefully!**

**.**

**Chapter 12**

The buzzer to the door rang. Jonas lifted himself lazily from the couch, picked up the automatic from the seat next to him and sauntered over to the front door. He peered through the spy-hole. He smiled as he pulled back the latch and let her in. He checked the corridor and then he closed the door quietly, refastened the latch and followed her into the large, airy, well-appointed room. She paused for a moment admiring the black leather couches, the elegant home cinema set-up and the tasteful pieces of modern art. She stood her suitcase by the bedroom door and removed her jacket tossing it onto the chair disdainfully. She would have to throw it out. The woman she'd picked at the airport to impersonate her clearly had little taste. She wandered over to the windows to take in the view and then turned to face him. She pulled the small black box out of her purse and opened it for him to see.

Jonas smiled as he placed his weapon on the table and took the box from her. He shook the sparkling gems around the velvet interior and then snapped the lid shut and placed it next to the gun. "It's so nice to be paid twice for the same job." Elsa smiled. Jonas lifted his hands and cupped her face carefully examining her nose. "Does it still hurt?"

"A little." He saw a glimmer of anger appear in her eyes. "But it won't matter. I'll be able to have it fixed soon."

"If I had been there I would have killed him for doing this." He swept his thumbs across her cheeks. "Did he break easily?" Elsa shook her head, her eyes glinting dangerously. "Did he suffer?"

A smile fluttered across her face and her tongue licked her lips seductively. "Oh yes!"

"Good." Gently he pulled her towards him and kissed her firmly. Their kiss deepened and he ran his hands down the smooth silk of her blouse and across her belly round to her back. His fingers found the button to her skirt and then the zip. The dark material fluttered to the ground. His hands caressed her hips and bottom as his lips devoured hers. "I'm glad he suffered," he murmured. "I wanted him to suffer." He dug his fingers into her flesh and felt her gasp. She stepped out of the skirt.

"Oh you have no idea how much," she whispered as they danced towards the bedroom. "It was ..." He kicked open the door behind her. "...exquisite!"

Jonas moaned into her neck. "Tell me," he demanded his voice husky and filled with desire.

Elsa's heart began to beat faster and she laughed as she pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. "With pleasure." She undid her own blouse and discarded it as Jonas tugged off the rest of his clothes. They fell onto the silk sheets in a tangle of arms and legs and as they made love she told him every single detail.

.

_He slept the sleep of a tormented man. He writhed in the bed, the sheets twisting underneath him as he tried to escape the images from the past. He could hear the sounds of the city through the broken windows set high into the concrete walls. He could smell the rank odour of old engine oil mixed with stale exhaust fumes. His mouth felt dry and was filled with the coppery taste of his own blood. His heart pounded with fear as the name echoed though his mind. Jonas. The name wouldn't leave him. The visions came too quickly for him to comprehend. Elsa pushing a needle into a phial of clear liquid. Elsa grabbing his hair tearing it from its roots. Have you identified him? Jonas. Do you know who he is? Jonas. Do you have his prints? Jonas. Did you make the connection? What connection? There was a connection? The image changed. The helicopter stood in front of him, it's rotors turning, two Marines wrestling a man to the ground. The Colonel smiling, congratulating him. Wild Card. Then he was in the lab. Lindsay showing him footprints. Male, sizes nine and ten. Army issue boots. A mattress burned in the back of a truck, a linen truck. Acrid smoke making him cough. Then he was in the back of a truck. He could feel every twist and turn, every rut and bump but he couldn't move. He was suffocating. He couldn't breathe. Jonas. Did you make the connection? What connection? There was a connection? Lindsay showing him an empty water bottle that had rolled into a dark corner. DNA. Jonas. Fingerprints on the bottle. But only three. Left thumb and forefingers. Jonas. He wants you to suffer. He wants you to beg for mercy. He wants you to feel the pain. Jonas. Did you make the connection? What connection? There was a connection! Left thumb and forefingers! Jonas! Wild Card! There was a connection! _He woke.

.

Finally it was coming together. Night had fallen in New Orleans. The restaurants, bars and clubs were coming alive as people ventured out in the balmy evening. Offices were closed. People were enjoying barbecues in their back-yards or walking the crowded side-walks in search of a good restaurant. Young lovers were strolling hand in hand through the city's parks. Tourists were wandering the French quarter admiring the architecture or hunting for the quintessential jazz club. All of them unaware of the groups of tired and harassed individuals working away to save one man.

In the FBI situation room a group of men in shirt-sleeves rolled up to their elbows, ties loosened pored over a map similar to the one Stella had pinned to a white-board. A hand reached out with a yellow marker. If they took out Marine 2 the most vulnerable point would be the pick-up. The marker made a circle around the park cum playing field opposite the school and temporary landing site for Marine Two. "It's going down here," said an authoritative man with greying hair and sharp blue eyes. "Double the security around the field. Has the sweep of the buildings come up with anything?" Another man answered in the negative. Nothing unusual had been spotted. It was mostly residential. An old people's home. A row of town houses and a new apartment building that had just been completed but was unoccupied. Viewing had been delayed until after the vice-president's visit. "Do it again."

A few miles away another team was hard at work. Lacey and Gabriel March were still trying hotels and boarding houses as well as car hire and cab companies. After he'd set up a facial recognition search for Elsa Rossi on the city's traffic and CCTV networks, Adam had been persuaded to catch up on a little sleep on two armchairs that had been pushed together in Stella's office. Jeff Hamilton was using his considerable network of Interpol contacts to try to find out more details on Jonas. Jo and Stella were comparing results from the New York murder of Kathleen Mortimer to the murder of Hank Felton, a reporter for the local newspaper currently occupying drawer 23 of the New Orleans morgue. The evidence was overwhelming in its abundance. Stella ran a finger down the extensive list. "Oh Jo, no wonder they haven't narrowed anything down. There's everything in this warehouse from rat droppings and old syringes to discarded newspaper and traces of super-glue. There's even cotton candy, saddle wax and a piece of Lego for crying out loud."

Jo threw her a helpless look as she went through Stella's evidence on Hank Felton. She was about to ask about ballistics when Frank Mitford came storming in accompanied by Special Agent Walsh. "Okay people, grab your kits. We've caught a break." The entire room minus Adam looked up startled. "You're not going to believe this but some birdwatcher just called in suspicious activity in the nature reserve. That team of Marines they just sent in have just captured two guys armed with semi-automatics, assault rifles and RPG's."

Five jaws dropped simultaneously "Grenade Launchers?" Jo stammered as the horror of Frank's announcement sank in.

Frank looked grim. "These guys mean business. According to HQ they didn't go down without a fight but they were out-gunned and eventually surrendered but they're not saying a word. However our little bird-watching friend pointed out their van. When they looked inside they found a room key belonging to the Cedars Motel. The FBI are going to handle the questioning of our suspects – they want us to check out the motel. SWAT is already on it's way."

The next three minutes were a mad-house of activity as everyone grabbed kits and weapons. No one was going to take any risks. Jo ran to Stella's office to wake Adam as Stella ran to fetch her piece. They paused for a second in the doorway. He looked adorable curled up on the two chairs that were too short for him. His hair was sticking out in all directions and he had one arm wrapped around a laptop and a faint smile on his lips.

Jo grinned at Stella. "It seems a shame to wake him."

Stella returned the smile. "Yes but he'll never forgive us if we go without him. Can't you just imagine him as a little boy with his teddy bear?"

Jo giggled. "Nah, he's more of a hard toy boy" Stella's face took an exaggerated look of shock. Jo rolled her eyes. "Stella! I meant he probably took a robot or a toy rocket to bed. My son used to curl with a Tonka truck!" Stella sniggered as Jo shook Adam's shoulder. "Adam?"

"Mmm..."

"Adam, wake up. We've gotta go. We've got a lead."

"No. No, the purple ones ..." Adam's eyes flickered open and slowly focussed on Jo. He sat up quickly holding his laptop in front of him and making a grab for the non-existent cover. "Jo! What are you doing here?" He looked down at himself and patted his clothes and then realized he was fully dressed. Then it came back to him. He had been taking a nap in Stella's office. He glanced at Stella who was valiantly attempting to cover her amusement. "Er … sorry. I was dreaming … I was … er … never mind!"

"Sorry to wake you but we've gotta go. We've got a lead."

"Right … a lead … yeah … that's good … that's good..." Stella and Jo headed out the door. Adam followed them trying to get his brain back into action when he realized that everyone except Lacey and Gabriel was gearing up. Jo and Stella were fixing their holsters to their hips and Frank was handing out vests. Adam's eyes opened wide. "... that's not so good."

Twenty minutes later, two cars cautiously entered the front parking lot of the Cedar's Motel. As they pulled to a halt they spied a group of people in nightwear being shepherded towards the reception building by three SWAT officers. Suddenly from the far side of lot came the sounds of gunfire. There were several muzzle flashes and a group of darkly-clothed figures moved towards the two rooms at the end of the block. Suddenly a figure came crashing through a window on the side of one block and tried to make a run for it but several men jumped out from behind parked cars surrounding him with shouts to lay down his weapon and get down on the ground.

The four SWAT officers that were taking the front entrances squatted down out of sight of the windows and doors. Two stood quickly and swung large batons shattering the glass before their companions lobbed two small objects though the holes. There were two flashes accompanied by loud bangs and, curls of smoke forced their way out of the shattered windows to disappear wraith-like into the night. Then it was all movement. Both pairs of officers entered the rooms. Simultaneously a man appeared in the doorway of the room two doors down and headed towards reception. Instantly Frank Mitford was out of his car and running full tilt across the car park. His gun drawn, he headed towards the man clearly aiming to cut him off from the reception block. Walsh was hard on his heels.

"Police! Stop right there!" He raised his gun, in a classic two fisted stance. "Drop your weapon!" The man faltered slightly but his face took on a snarl as he raised his weapon. Frank loosed off a shot taking his assailant in the shoulder as Jo and Stella jumped from their car to provide back-up. The man staggered backwards from the force of the shot but with a shout of rage he raised his weapon once more. Frank fired again and the man went down. Frank maintained his stance and slowly approached with Walsh circling to his right. Stella circled left and moved in closer as Jo watched their backs. The man lay unmoving. Frank nodded to Stella and she kicked the gun away from his hand. She bent down and felt for a pulse. Raising her eyes she shook her head noting a multitude of emotions cross Frank's face before being banished by his mask of professionalism. Jo and Walsh continued to survey the surrounding buildings. All four checked around them nervously but relaxed slightly as shouts of 'clear' came from the SWAT team.

There was a moment of silence then a tall African-American man in full gear appeared from around the back of the building and strode across the lot towards them. "Frank? Stella? You okay?" Frank lowered his weapon and nodded. He stared down at the man laid on the ground in front of him. "Sorry about him. He broke his way through into the room next door. Apparently all the rooms in that block have connecting doors for families. We've two guys in custody in the end room plus the one who made a run for it. The rest of the place is clear." He nodded to Stella. "Just give my guys a couple of minutes to check it over to make sure it's okay and then it's all yours."

Stella smiled. "Thanks Ben." She turned to Frank and Walsh. "You see what you can get from them. We'll process the rooms." Frank gave a curt nod as he took one last look at the man he had been forced to shoot then he and Walsh followed the SWAT team leader and headed towards the back of the building. Stella turned back to the cars and waved to indicate that it was safe for the others to join them. Adam, Lacey and Gabriel left the relative safety of the cars. "Gabriel, call the ME's office and get them to get a van down here." She nodded to the man lying on the ground. "See what you can find on him. Adam, Lacey, you're with us."

They started with the room on the end of the block. The air was still acrid with smoke from the flash-bang and they all felt it sting their eyes and throats. Pausing on the threshold they let Lacey take pictures, the flash from her camera highlighting the devastation in the room. They carefully picked their way round the mess of broken glass, shell-casings and abandoned weapons. The two beds looked like they had been slept in. There were discarded food wrappers and water bottles, several soda cans. Jo and Adam wandered through into the second room and froze.

"Stella? You've got to see this." Jo called.


	15. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks once again to my faithful reviewers tlh45, smuffly, swarovski and guests for all your encouragement. I may have to speed up posting some chapters if I am to finish before I go on vacation so sorry if I'm posting too quickly.  
**

**.**

**Chapter 13**

"Lego! Seriously?" Adam couldn't believe his eyes. "What self-respecting criminal builds his plan of attack out of Lego?" No one answered him. They were too busy staring at the intricate model with it's white and grey walls and cherry red roof.

"It's the school yard." Stunned, Stella pointed at the walls. "This is the main building, the sports hall, the playground and this is the garden." They all peered at the little figurines. "This is the road and the park opposite." She pointed to a helicopter. "That's got to be Marine Two."

Adam sniggered to himself forcing the two women to turn to him with questioning looks. He pointed at a little figurine with a white peaked cap stood to attention near the helicopter. "Oh come on … it looks just like him … you know the picture in his office?" Jo and Stella looked at the stiff little figure with the frowning face and knew immediately who he was referring to. Stella's eyes met Jo's and they both tried very hard not to laugh.

"Well, one thing's certain, Jonas sure knows a lot about the protection detail." Jo pointed to the little figurines in black dotted everywhere.

"In the all the right places." Stella agreed thinking back to the map she had pinned up in the conference room. "He's been getting some seriously accurate information." Jo raised her eyebrows. They both knew who from. Elsa Rossi.

Adam pointed to a vehicle on the 'road' separating the school garden from the park opposite. "That's kinda' weird. Why put an ambulance there?"

They all turned as a voice echoed behind them. "Because they were going to impersonate EMS." Lacey stood next to a closet and held out a uniform in one hand. They also noticed there was a medical bag on the floor. "There's also two black suits and a blue jacket with a press ID belonging to Hank Felton." She bobbed down and pulled something else out of the closet. "Camera kit and tripod too."

Adam tipped his head to one side spying something under the bed. He pulled out the heavy khaki coloured bag. He unzipped it. "Whoa!" he exclaimed as he took the array of weaponry. He wished that Mac was there. He'd be able to rattle off the makes and models with no trouble. Adam's stomach did a little flip as his thoughts strayed to his boss. He had a sudden eerie feeling something was wrong.

Jo looked at the closet that Lacey was searching and then back at the model "They're going to engineer a medical emergency during the photo-shoot. Look where they've positioned the photographer. Right by the side-gate."

Stella nodded. "But how?" She swept a hand through her hair before answering her own question. "The vice-president is going to lunch with city officials before the visit to the school. Maybe some slow release drug? Or they're going to get him with a needle during the photo shoot, by pretending to adjust his tie or ..." She didn't look convinced. She glanced at Jo who was also frowning.

"Or maybe it's someone else?" Jo pointed to a group of six Lego figures.

"A third person?" Stella's forehead creased in concentration. "The grey one – is the vice-president. The blue one is the photographer. The two in black here are the body-guards. This one is obviously female; the principal of the school is a … Mrs Montgomery. Who is this lying down?" She pointed to one of the little figures that they thought had fallen over.

Jo looked at Stella. "Someone who looks like he's being photographed with the vice-president and the school principal."

"It has to be the man in charge of the renewal project." Stella thought for a moment. "What's his name? Agh, it was in the paper. … Wescott! Arthur Wescott!" Jo and Stella exchanged glances. They would have to have a word with Mr Wescott. Stella looked at Lacey and Adam. "Okay people glove up. Let's bag and tag."

.

The lack of real sleep and the medication had left him feeling as though he was no longer in his body. His senses worked but nothing made sense. Mac sat on the edge of the bed and shivered as his feet touched the cold floor, finally a sensation that did seem real. He enjoyed the feel of it for a moment and then carefully he lifted himself up. His legs felt like jelly and the room spun for a moment. He paused waiting for the vertigo to settle down. Gently he made his way to the closet and pulled the door to one side. It rolled smoothly and silently on well-oiled runners. His suitcase stood inside the closet. He bent down and opened it. He pulled some clothes from the case and with trembling hands he managed to dress himself in black jeans and a soft dark grey sweater, the only casual clothes he had brought with him. He gritted his teeth as he bent double to pull on socks and shoes. He zipped up the case and picked it up. He couldn't risk pulling it – too much noise. He looked at the suit carrier on the rail but decided to abandon that.

Silently he eased the door to his room open and stepped through, pausing only to close it silently behind him. Slowly he made his way down the high-ceilinged corridor and stopped at the corner. He peered at the brightly lit office. It was empty. Mac could feel a slight breeze. He sniffed and caught the faint aroma of cigarettes. He knew Thierry and Giles were enjoying a Gauloise by the emergency exit door before starting their rounds. Abandoning the suitcase momentarily he tiptoed into the office. He glanced around and pulled open a drawer of the small unit under the desk. It was full of office supplies. He pushed it closed and tried the one underneath. It was full of hanging files. He skimmed through the files, saw his name and opened it. There was a large brown envelope. He sighed with relief as he saw his wallet, his phone and his passport. He pushed his wallet into his pocket with his passport. He picked up his phone. He went back to where he left his case, pulled the battery from the phone and pushed them inside the outer pocket.

Mac turned back the way he had come and made for a door at the far end of the corridor. He reached out praying that it hadn't been relocked. He sighed with relief as it opened and he slipped inside. The day room was large and comfortable with a dozen easy chairs and tables, magazines and books and a television set in one corner. A long set of cupboards along one wall held a coffee maker, basket of snacks and a variety of board games. Mac ignored these and made straight for the garden doors. They opened onto an enclosed garden set with outdoor furniture. Mac knew it well. He had spent the afternoon sitting there in the warm sun watching the elderly gardener prune the roses. He walked silently across the grass towards the little shed in the corner of the garden that was discretely hidden by a tasteful row of Aucuba bushes, their variegated leaves standing out in the early morning light.

Mac paused at the entrance to the shed. He was already breathing heavily and he could feel his heart thudding in his chest. He could hear Doctor Bertrand telling him that it would take time for him to heal. Most muscle had some degree of damage, the worst being in his left arm and side. There was also minor damage to his lungs, liver and kidneys, all of which would take time to heal. At least another three weeks before she could release him, she'd said. Three weeks before he could fly home. Three weeks before he could find Jonas. Three weeks before he could confirm his suspicions. Bruno had offered to have him stay with them. Dr Bertrand disagreed preferring that he stay under close medical supervision but Mac wasn't comfortable with either option. He'd asked for his wallet and phone but they'd skirted around it, telling him to rest, make the most of the sunshine, try to regain his strength. They had given him some medication with lunch to help with the discomfort. He suspected that it was a sedative because he'd slept and had awoken feeling tired and lethargic. He had only pretended to take the medication at dinner. He was sure that they meant well and were only trying to protect him but he'd wasted too much time already. He didn't like deceiving them but he felt that he had no choice. He forced himself to concentrate on the lock.

He put down his case and felt around under the bush for the old metal trowel that the elderly gardener had forgotten and that he had hidden there earlier. He jammed it down between the wood and the rusty padlocked latch. Even in his weakened state it didn't take much force for the rotten wood to give way. He paused to make sure that he hadn't been heard but all was silent. Discarding the trowel, he quietly lifted out the old wooden step-ladder and placed it at the side of the shed. Hefting the suitcase on his shoulder he climbed the ladder awkwardly. His left arm was refusing to cooperate. He managed to get onto the roof of the shed that backed onto the high stone wall. He peered over and smiled to himself. Luck was on his side. He had thought that he would have to make an eight foot drop but at the other side of the wall, a long row of cars stood parked one behind the other. Literally! It always amazed him how Parisians could get their cars into such tight spaces. No wonder they didn't put the hand-brake on. Idly he wondered if driving instructors actually taught the shunting procedure that enabled them to get in or out of impossible spaces. He pushed the thoughts to one side and looked down. Right underneath him was a delivery van. He hefted his case over the wall and placed it quietly onto the roof of the van.

He looked around but all the buildings were in darkness. He could hear a faint hum of traffic and spotted car headlights moving in the distance. He took one last look over his shoulder. He muttered a silent apology to Dr Bertrand and Bruno Lefebvre. They had been kindness itself as had Thierry and Giles but there was something he had to do. Alone. Then he lifted himself up and over and dropped onto the roof of the van and then down onto the road. He headed towards the noise of the traffic glad that Paris, like New York was a city that never slept.


	16. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thanks once again to my faithful reviewers tlh45, smuffly, swarovski and guests for all your encouragement. I may have to speed up posting some chapters if I am to finish before I go on vacation so sorry if I'm posting too quickly.  
**

**.**

**Chapter 14**

Jo and Adam were impressed with the layout of the New Orleans lab. Admittedly the building was older than theirs and something of a rabbit warren but once you got used to it they were able to find their way around quite easily. Stella had called in extra staff and Jo handed a couple of DNA samples to a shy young girl called Sandy. Sandy scooted off with the samples, her pony tail swinging from side to side. Jo turned her attention to the printer that was spewing out sheets of paper when Adam wandered in with … Sandy who was carrying a large box of soda cans in plastic evidence bags. Jo froze, stared at Sandy and turned back to the door that Sandy had just left by. She turned back to the girl her face a mask of confusion. "How did you …?" Both Sandy and Adam giggled.

"They're twins!" Adam grinned at the surprise on Jo's face.

"I'm Lesley. Don't worry everyone gets us mixed up". She pointed to the clip in her hair. "That's why we've had clips with our names put on them."

Jo did a great impression of a goldfish. "Cool, huh?" muttered Adam. "If only I could persuade Stella to send them to New York for a few days. Think of the fun I could have with Danny and Lindsay." Jo shot him a disapproving look. "If you're done here, Stella wants us in the conference room. Frank's got something." With a last look at Lesley, Jo gathered up her papers and followed Adam through the maze of corridors to the conference room. Stella and Frank were busy pinning sheets to a fourth white board. Adam nudged Jo. "Looks like a veritable rogue's gallery."

Indeed, the row of six pictures would have done Mr Pinkerton proud. Frank turned to address the gathered staff. "Special Agent Walsh is accompanying these fine gentlemen ..." He gestured with his thumb to the row of mugshots. "...to FBI headquarters. They are not saying a word but their prints speak for themselves. They are all ex-military." Indeed the faces were those of hard men used to combat. He pointed to the topmost picture and moved along the row. "US Army, Marine Corps ..." He pointed to a picture of a sharp-faced man glaring at the camera with a menacing stare. "This guy is a former French Commando. These two ex-Bosnian army. And this one is a former British paratrooper. " Frank looked uncomfortable as he came to the last picture. It was the man he had shot.

"That's quite a spread." Jo looked at Frank. "They're not saying anything?"

Frank shook his head. "They've only nodded to confirm that they've understood their rights and acknowledge their names. Other than that ..." He lifted his hands. "They're not going to give up Jonas if that's what you think."

"Do we think that Jonas could be ex-military too?"

Stella nodded in agreement with Jo. "It's a strong possibility. We've sent out his description and fingerprints to all branches but it may be some time before anything comes back. What is the evidence saying?"

Jo had glanced through the results of their analyses. "Well we can put them all in those two rooms. We have prints from windows, faucets, tables, chairs, and most importantly the weapons. We're running DNA now."

Adam nodded. "All the weapons are coming up clean. No hits in IBIS and the serial numbers have been removed. Sam and Brady are trying acid etching as we speak but don't hold out any hope. These guys are thorough." Adam thought for a minute. "Maybe I ought to get them to try Mac's ferrofluid trick?"

"Well at least we can hold them on gun charges for the time being. Hopefully we'll get a conspiracy charge too." Stella paused as Gabriel came running through the doors. He skidded to a halt waving a sheet of paper.

"I got a partial ..." he wheezed. "Off the Lego figure .. the one that was knocked over." He took a gulp of air. "It matches one of the prints from your New York case. From the water bottle."

"Jonas!" Stella and Jo said in unison.

"And I think I have a picture of him!" squealed the disembodied voice of Lacey from the other side of the office. She tapped a few keys and stood up to peer over the divider at the large monitor behind Stella. Everyone swivelled to look at it. Stella pulled the line drawing from the board and held it against the screen. There was a definite similarity. "This is from a traffic camera down the block from the motel. He's driving a silver 2012 Impala. It was the only car that arrived during the day and left after a couple of hours."

"Get a BOLO out." Lacey nodded and returned to her computer.

Everyone stared at the picture in silence. Finally they were able to put a face to the man they had been hunting. The man at the wheel glowered as he waiting at the lights. His right hand gripped the wheel so that his knuckles showed up white against the dark interior. His face was angular with high cheek bones. His deep set eyes had hooded lids and his thin lips were drawn into a hard line. He had a feral look, a wild stare like a predator on the prowl. For some reason Adam shuddered and he hoped that he would never have to cross paths with this man.

.

Elsa Rossi wrapped the sheet round her and wandered into the living room. Jonas was fully dressed with his back to her looking out of the window. "Babe?"

He didn't turn around. "Get dressed." His voice was hard and cold.

"Babe, what's wrong?"

He turned around, his face a mask of fury. "Get dressed now. We've leaving." He pulled the battery from the phone and threw them into the holdall at his feet. "They've missed their check-in."

"Who?"

"All of them. Get dressed. Hurry up." Jonas was livid. _What the hell had gone wrong? How was it possible that all six members of his team had been compromised?_ He turned to look out of the window. He saw two men heading slowly towards him along the street that made up the western boundary of the park. He could tell from their gait that they weren't just friends out for an early morning stroll. He reached down into his bag and pulled out a battered pair of army issue binoculars. He studied them for a moment. They were wearing slacks and wind-cheaters but he could see ear-pieces coiling from their ears and bulges under their jackets. _Dammit! The Feds._ He threw the binoculars back in the bag and grabbed his gun from the table and stuck it in the back of his belt. He grabbed the box of diamonds and threw that on top of the bag too. He turned to look at the bedroom where Elsa was getting dressed. He took a moment to admire the smoothness of her back, and her long legs. It was a pity that she had had to cut her hair. It was so luxuriant. He loved the feel of it, running his fingers through her silky locks, caressing that soft skin, having her in his bed.

He made his decision in less time than it took to glance at his watch.

He crossed the room in a few strides, pulled out his gun, flipped it in his hand and brought the butt down hard on the back of her head. She crumpled to the floor. He bent down and touched his fingers to her throat and felt the pulse beating strongly.

"Sorry baby..." he whispered brushing her hair gently one last time. "... but you're a liability."

He replaced the gun in his waistband, put on a leather jacket that was hung on the back of a chair and retrieved his hold-all slinging over his shoulder. He picked up a long leather case with brass catches and took one last look at Elsa and reached for the car keys. He thought for a second and then replaced them on the table next to her purse. He let himself out quietly and headed for the emergency exit at the back of the building.


	17. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks once again to my faithful reviewers tlh45, smuffly, swarovski and guests for all your encouragement.  
**

**.**

**Chapter 15**

Jo stretched and forced her eyes open. She blinked in the soft light that filtered through the blinds. Despite having had only four hours sleep she felt remarkably well rested. The tantalizing smell of coffee reached her nostrils. She groaned as she threw off the cover and pulled herself upright. She padded silently into the kitchen to find Stella was warming croissants in the oven. She turned as Jo entered. "Morning Jo! Sleep well?"

Jo nodded. "Yeah, thanks." She watched Stella make a cappuccino and push it in her direction. "Thanks Stella and thank you for letting me stay." She looked around admiring the soft ochre and sienna furnishings of the living room being warmed by the early morning sun. "This place is simply gorgeous."

Stella smiled happily. "I'm glad you like it. I just couldn't resist. It was a little smaller than I was hoping for but I just love the French quarter. And I'm glad that you decided to stay. I don't get to have house-guests very often."

"Well if you ever come back to New York and you need a place a stay, we have a spare room." Stella acknowledged her offer with a smile and a nod. "Do you miss it?"

Stella thought for a moment. "Yes … and no." She grinned. "It was hard at first but the job is challenging, the team are great. I rather enjoy being the boss but the paperwork is horrendous! And the hours are worse!" They both laughed. "But I do miss the people, the team. Lindsay and Danny, Sheldon and Sid. Adam ... and I miss Mac." For a moment several unasked questions hung between them. Questions that they both knew they would never ask. A silent message of understanding passed between them. "I think we should call him today … see how he's doing … really."

Jo nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right. Did you … er … ask Adam what happened?"

A strange expression crossed Stella's face. "I did but he kept … deflecting. He just insisted that Mac was going to be okay and needed to rest. I dunno Jo. I got the impression that … I don't know how to put it. It almost felt like … I was prying."

Jo nodded again. "I know what you mean. He was the same with me." Jo huffed. "You know, it's funny. It's almost as though their roles have suddenly switched." Stella frowned as Jo looked at the creamy foam on top of her coffee. "I remember when it happened to me … I mean … I can actually remember the day when I realized that it was my turn to start looking after my Mom rather than her looking after me. It came as a bit of a shock." They exchanged little half-smiles as they both came to the same conclusion. Like the rest of the team, they were used to Mac looking after them. Perhaps it was time to reverse the roles.

They both turned as Stella's phone buzzed gently reminding them of the world outside their little cocoon. Stella grabbed it and answered tersely. Suddenly she looked up at Jo. "Okay, no one touch anything till we get there." She hung up. "They've found the Impala that Jonas was driving. You're not going to believe this but it's parked under the new building at the north side of the park near the school."

.

Elsa Rossi groaned as she grabbed hold of the edge of the bed. She reached up to touch the back of her head and whimpered as she felt the bump there. She pulled herself up and looked around. On swaying legs she staggered into the living room. It was empty. His bag was gone, as was the gun and the little black box. "Bastard!" Anger coursed through her. She turned back to the bedroom picking up her skirt and blouse. She threw them on the bed and dragged her case towards her. Quickly she donned a pair of jeans and a long sleeved blue cotton top that moulded itself to her body. She went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet and washed her hands and face, shivering at the cold water. She pulled a brush through her hair carefully avoiding the bump on her head. She ran a towel under the cold tap and held it to her head. She returned to the bedroom sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked at the ruffled covers and the dent in the pillow where he had laid his head. "Damn you Jonas! You lousy, double-crossing son of a bitch! I'll get you if it's the last thing I do." She tossed the towel onto the floor and pulled on her boots. She threw her things into the suitcase, zipped it up and went to retrieve her purse. She stared down at the car keys. At least he'd left her a car.

.

Frank Mitford was exhausted. He rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. He needed a shave, a shower and food. He stomped down the corridor looking like thunder-storm leaving a cloud of crackling tension in his wake. A young, clean-shaven rookie jumped out of his way and stared after him wondering if that was what he was going to turn into in several years time.

Frank flung open the door to the interrogation room making the man waiting inside visibly jump. Frank slammed a buff folder down onto the table and positioned his hands to lean across the table glaring down at the man.

"What is the meaning of this? You have no right to drag me from my house and keep me here. I'll have you know that I'm meeting the Vice President in less than hour," the man blustered. "You shall be hearing from my lawyer!" He jumped out of his seat.

"I have every right," Frank growled. "Now sit down!" He was in no mood for this pompous ass with his fancy suit and lacquered hair. He opened the folder and placed a photograph in front of the man. Frank watched carefully but there was no reaction to the surveillance photograph of Jonas. He placed a second photograph on top of the first. This time the man's eyes opened wide and he swallowed nervously. He glanced up at Frank and then slowly sat down. "So what did she threaten you with?"

"What? Er … nothing! I … er … don't know what you mean ..."

"Don't play games with me, " Frank snarled as he pushed the photograph closer. He pulled out an evidence bag from his pocket. He watched as the man's eyes followed the movement. He placed it on the table next to the photograph and tapped the little lacquer box inside it. "She gave you this. You told you to take it when you accompany the Vice President to the photo shoot in the school garden. What does it do? You might as well as tell me because I'll know in an hour or so anyway when our lab analyses it."

The man blustered for a minute. "I don't know … I don't know what you're talking about … I want my lawyer." Frank could see him deflating quicker than balloon at a kid's party. It was time to go in for the kill.

"Arthur Wescott, I'm arresting you for conspiracy and treason, for aiding and abetting a known criminal in a plot to kidnap the Vice President of the …." He didn't get any further. Arthur Wescott caved in.

"No … no. you don't understand. She made me. She had a gun and ..."

"And?"

The man licked his lips nervously. "She had … she was blackmailing me."

"With what?" Frank asked. The man didn't answer but looked down. "With what?" he asked again more forcefully.

Arthur Wescott deflated completely. He suddenly looked his age, his face taking on a grey tinge. "She had a photograph ..." His voice was barely a whisper. "... of a friend ..." He looked up at Frank, his eyes full of regret and shame. "... a male friend." But there was something else too. Fear.

Frank felt a wave of disgust as he asked. "And how old is this friend?" Arthur Wescott didn't answer.

.

Stella pulled up her car outside the elegant new building. Walsh was stood on the side-walk conversing with two other officers. He looked up as they approached. "Morning. They found the car this morning while doing a routine sweep of the vicinity. The building's empty but there's an emergency exit on the first floor that leads to the street behind the building. They said there's tape over the lock. I've got two guys checking the building out as we speak and I've got the real estate agent coming over with keys to the apartments." He swept a hand towards the entrance to the underground car park and they headed down the slope. "My guys assure me that the car wasn't there during yesterday afternoon's sweep so Jonas must have arrived sometime after that. The entrance to the car park is on a key-code lock but it's pretty basic. Wouldn't take much to crack it and judging by the stash of weapons and gadgets we found at the motel they're well equipped."

They dodged around the barriers and turned the corner into the underground parking. They slowed, blinking to adjust their eyes after the bright sunlight and froze. A tall slim figure dressed in jeans and blue shirt with a leather bag slung across her body so as to sit comfortably on her hip was pushing open the door just beyond the car. She had a suitcase in one hand and keys in the other. For a split second they stared at one another each unable to believe what they were seeing.

Stella was the first to react. "Elsa Rossi! Police! Hold it right there!"

Panicked Elsa dropped the keys and case and pushed a hand behind her. Quick as lightening she drew her hand out and fired wildly just as all three dove for cover. Walsh was unlucky. A ricochet from the pillar clipped his arm. He yelped in pain distracting Jo as Stella returned fire forcing Elsa back through the doors. Immediately Stella sprinted after her.

Jo hesitated. "Walsh?"

"I'm fine! Go!" Jo turned to see the two officers they had seen earlier come running down into the car park alerted by the shots. "Jo! Go!" Jo sprinted after Stella leaving Walsh in the capable hands of his colleagues.

Stella sped up the stairs. She could hear Elsa half a flight above her. A door banged. Stella pushed herself harder. She pulled open the door and looked both ways. The corridor was empty but a click from her left indicated a closing door. Stella bolted down the corridor. She burst through the door, her gun raised hoping desperately that Elsa hadn't stopped and was waiting at the other side to take her out. She blinked furiously as her eyes adjusted to the bright sun once more. She found herself in a small courtyard surrounded by a fence. A row of dumpsters stood against the far wall and part of the paving was sloped. It was clearly the delivery entrance to the building. She sprinted toward the gate in the fence and burst out into the street startling an elderly man and a young couple. She muttered an apology and pushed her way out into the street and stood in amazement looking around.

The long rows of brightly coloured stalls held everything from fresh fruit and vegetables, flowers, honey and jellies to children's clothing, toys and bric-a-brac. The air was heavy with scent of fresh-baked bread and Cajun chicken from the stall Stella found herself standing next to. Already the street was heaving with early morning shoppers buying their weekend provisions. Stella whirled around looking in all directions as people pushed past her chatting and laughing with not a care in the world. She desperately scanned the sea of faces as she felt Jo run up next to her. They looked at one another. The despair on Jo's face reflected Stella's feelings as they stood in centre of the market.

"Dammit!"


	18. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thanks once again to my faithful reviewers tlh45, smuffly, swarovski and guests for all your encouragement.  
**

**.**

**Chapter 16**

The mood was sombre as Jo and Stella returned to the entrance of the building. They'd split up and walked the length and breadth of the market but to no avail. Elsa Rossi was long gone. They found Frank, Lacey and Gabriel waiting for them with a slim nervous looking woman wearing slacks and white blouse. She was holding a large bunch of keys. Frank had managed to find ten minutes to shave and change his shirt. He was now sporting a psychedelic number in yellow and orange. "Walsh is outside with EMS getting patched up. It's nothing serious. This is Elaine Dellray. She's the agent in charge of this building. Apparently there is a show apartment on the third floor. All the other apartments are empty." Stella nodded and they made their way silently to the elevators.

Frank asked Elaine Dellray to wait in the corridor while he and Stella checked the apartment. Jo showed her photos of Jonas and Elsa Rossi but the young woman shook her head. "Sorry but we've had a lot of interest - it's so near the new school and the market - but I'm not always here for the visits..." Jo smiled and told her not to worry. Frank came back and indicated they could enter.

Stella was stood in the centre of the living room looking towards the bedroom, her mouth drawn into a hard line. Jo joined her. They looked at the rumpled sheets and pillows. "You were right Jo. Elsa Rossi was here for Jonas."

Jo arched an eyebrow. "Clearly it was a little more than a business relationship." Stella walked up to the bed where Lacey had already gloved up and was examining the sheets with an ALS.

The young woman looked at them. "Oh yeah, there was a whole lot of action going on here ..."

Gabriel lifted a towel from the floor. "Someone's hurt themselves." He held it up for them to see. It was soaking wet and there were traces of blood in the centre.

"Trouble in paradise?" Stella couldn't help a smug little smile.

"Stella! Jo!" They turned as Frank called from the other room. As they joined him, they noticed the jacket that Elsa had been wearing thrown in a crumpled heap on a chair. Frank pointed at the carpet near the window. "Someone was stood here. You can see his prints in the carpet." He turned and pointed to another imprint in the carpet by the side of the couch. "What do you make of that?" Stella and Jo bobbed down. The mark was long and rectangular, about five inches wide and some twenty-five inches in length. Whatever had made the mark was clearly heavy as it had left a distinct imprint in the new carpet and there were three sets of four circles set in a square at regular intervals.

"It's too big for an attaché case," mused Jo.

"Gun case?" asked Stella. Jo reached into a little pouch on her belt and pulled out tweezers and a bag. She lifted a hair from the carpet and held it out for Stella to see. "Mm. It's not human. Let's get it back to Gabriel." Jo bagged and labelled it while Stella asked Lacey for her camera to photograph the mark.

Frank stood at the window looking down at the carpet then turned and asked Elaine Dellray to join them."Ms Dellray, can you tell us if the furniture has been moved?"

Elaine Dellray looked around nervously as though someone was going to jump out at her. Her eyes almost popped out of her at the sight of the rumpled bedding unable to believe that someone would use her show flat for that purpose. "Er yes ... " She pointed to two chairs. "Normally those chairs are placed either side of that table just where you're standing."

Frank looked at the chairs and then at the mark that Jo and Stella had been studying and then at the window. He turned around and positioned himself to look out of the glass.

"What are you thinking Frank?" asked Stella as she and Jo stood up. Frank lifted his arms mimicking holding a rifle. He squinted. He could just see the the tiny little gate in the walled garden of the school. He swung his arms and spotted the men who were patrolling the school walls.

"I'm thinking our guy isn't just a kidnapper. I'm thinking he's a sniper."

.

Jonas settled into the seat of the old tan Chevrolet. It hadn't taken him long to find a suitable car to boost. He kept the needle sitting at sixty as he cruised along the highway heading north. He had made one last call before ditching the phone. He'd told his correspondent that the package he had been expecting had been irrevocably lost and offered his sincerest apologies. He'd hung up without waiting for the outburst of anger that he knew would follow. He'd let Jacob Lyle take it out on those poor unfortunate souls that he called his disciples.

He had no regrets. It was pointless getting angry. He had learnt that when things go wrong, it was best to walk away while he could and start again. He would analyse what went wrong at a later date so he could plan for that in future operations. He knew that the men wouldn't talk. They would probably get several years on illegal gun charges but with good lawyers they probably wouldn't be able to definitively tie them to the kidnapping attempt. The Bosnians and the French former commando would be deported but the others would do their time and be out in a few years. They knew the risks besides they'd already had a generous down-payment so they wouldn't be complaining and, if they did, he had a small fortune to sooth their grievances sitting in his hold-all in the trunk of the car. He felt a twinge of guilt at abandoning the beautiful Elsa but he knew that if the shoe had been on the other foot she wouldn't have hesitated to do the same to him. After all she hadn't baulked at torturing a man to get what she wanted. His thoughts strayed as he cruised past a Walmart delivery truck. In a way he was sorry that Elsa had killed him. He would rather have liked the privilege of doing that himself. Instead he contented himself with mentally replaying every detail of their last night together and her vivid description of the demise of Mac Taylor.

.

The layout room was a hive of activity as Adam walked past. Noting that both Stella and Jo were absent he went in search of them. Spying them sitting in Stella's office surrounded by piles of paperwork, he tapped on the door looking rather guilty. Stella looked up. "Hey! Feeling better?"

"Er .. yeah. Sorry. I overslept. I should have ..."

"Adam!" Jo chided gently as Stella smiled. "You were exhausted. It's fine. You can't run on fumes."

Adam returned the smile. "So what did I miss?"

The smiles disappeared from their faces. "Elsa Rossi got away!"

"What?" Jo gave him a brief run-down on what had transpired. "Ah man! That's twice she's got away from us," he muttered half to himself unaware that he was rubbing salt into an open wound. Jo and Stella exchanged irritated glances.

"Well you know what they say. Third time's a charm!" The look in Stella's eyes said it all.

Jo nodded and waved a sheaf of papers. "Damn right! There has to be something here." All three turned around as a loud knock came on the door. Gabriel March stood there looking triumphant. He held up two evidence bags.

"I found these in a secret pocket in her suitcase. Passports in the name of Dr Elisabeth Rossini and Eliza Roswell."

Stella gave a little toss of her head. "Well at least she won't be leaving the country unless she's got more ..." As though fate had heard her, a box popped up on her computer screen announcing itself with an insistent trilling.

A naughty little smile played around her lips as Stella looked at Jo. "A friend of mine I'd like to introduce you to." She pushed the screen and re-angled it and the camera towards Jo and clicked on 'accept' call. Jo leaned forward curious. A large window opened and a grinning man appeared. Jo's eyes opened slightly. He was drop dead gorgeous.

"Allo, my Greek Goddess. Have you missed me?"

Stella grinned. "Of course, I have. Nico, this is Jo Danville from the New York Crime lab. Jo, this is Nico Pereire from Marseilles. "

"Very pleased to meet you." Nico gazed at Jo in open admiration. "Mon Dieu, if all police officers in America are as beautiful as you I must put in for a transfer!" Jo inclined her head at the compliment. She thought Stella had been exaggerating when she talked about Nico's charm.

Stella shook her head. "What can I do for you Nico?"

"Mais non cherie! It is what I can do for you. I have had a very interesting night … but enough about me!" He gave them a cheeky grin before becoming more serious. "We raided the home of a suspected forger – Rémi Delon, no relation to Alain, heureusement!" He flicked his hand in the air. "We found his secret hideaway, equipment, forged papers, passports, credit cards. On his computer we found encrypted files implicating many people but I digress … we also found this ..." He held up a small photograph to the camera. All four occupants of Stella's office leaned forward and gasped as they recognised Elsa Rossi's passport photo. He pulled it away and grinned at them clearly pleased with the reaction he had got. "I thought that might interest you so I had a word with our friend Rémi. How you say … to cut a long story short … he confessed to making three passports, three driving licences and three credit cards for her in the names of Dr Elizabeth Rossini, Mrs Eliza Roswell and Mademoiselle Elysa Roussel."

"Nico! You are a star!" gasped Stella. "Thank you."

Nico gave a little bow. "Always a pleasure to be of service … I am sending you all the details. And don't forget, if you come over to Marseilles I will show you a good time." He glanced at Jo and the cheeky grin reappeared. "And bring your friend. We could have a threesome!" And he blew them a kiss before logging off.

Stella and Jo burst into giggles. "Is he always like that?" asked Jo. Stella merely raised her eyebrows. Adam and Gabriel gave one another disgusted looks. If they had tried something that, they'd have been fired for sexual harassment.

"I'm going to start a search for Elysa Roussel." Adam whirled around bumping into Frank Mitford who arrived looking more than a little hassled. However before he could say anything Adam's phone rang.

Adam looked at the screen in surprise. "It's Bruno Lefebvre."

Stella tipped her head to one side, her eyes narrowing, "The head of the Paris Crime lab?"

Adam answered the call. "Bruno? … What? …" The colour drained from Adam's face. "What do mean he's gone? …But how? … He WHAT?" Adam grabbed at his hair in frustration. The same expressions of disbelief crossed Jo and Stella's faces at the same time. _Mac!_ "When? … What? … Why would he go there? … Okay! … No, of course … yes. Yes. Thank you."

Adam hung up the phone and stared at like it should give him some answers. Stella and Jo didn't need to ask what had happened. "He left the hospital AMA didn't he?" He could hear the frustration in Jo's voice. Stella merely rolled her eyes. Clearly some things never changed. "That's just like him. Couldn't they stop him?" Adam shook his head miserably. "I can't believe that they just let him walk out ..."

"They didn't exactly let him walk out..." Stella, Jo and Frank looked at Adam expectantly. "He kind of … 'snuck' out … sort of … climbed-over-a-wall-in-the-middle-of-the-night … 'snuck' ... and now it seems he's on a plane to Chicago ..."

"Chicago? Why is he going to Chicago?"

"I think I can answer that." Frank's face was grim when he spoke. "I think he's going after Joseph Alan Nash."

.

**END OF PART TWO**

.

**A/N: Part 3 coming soon in which our heroes round up the villains and villainesses! Of course!**


	19. Chapter 17

**A/N: Thanks once again to my faithful readers and reviewers.  
**

**.**

**PART THREE**

**Chapter 17**

Annabel placed her hand gently on the shoulder of the sleeping man in 14D. "Sir?" Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at her blankly for a second before becoming immediately alert. He sat up quickly making her flinch. "I'm sorry to disturb you sir but we'll be landing in an hour and I wondered if you wanted to … " She waved her hand towards the wash-room. "...freshen up? We are also serving breakfast," she added hopefully.

Mac hit the button to straighten the back of his seat. He gave her a small smile. She was quite attractive, in her early forties with smouldering grey eyes, a small pug nose and neat ash-blond hair pulled into a knot at the base of her neck. "Yes … er … thank you. Some coffee would be nice."

"Are you feeling better?"

Mac nodded and handed her the blanket. As he did so, he realized that she must have thrown it over him during the night. "Thank you." She smiled as she took it from him and returned to the service area presumably to get him some coffee. He undid his seat belt and stood, his joints protesting at the movement. He was stiff. He must have slept solidly for almost the entire flight but he felt better than he had in a few days despite his stomach feeling empty and his legs a little shaky. He grabbed the small kit that the flight attendant had left on the seat next to him and headed for the rest-rooms. Twenty minutes later, feeling refreshed after washing, shaving and brushing his teeth he returned to his seat. No sooner had he sat than Annabel appeared with a tray. She expertly flipped out the tray table and placed the meal before him. Mac wasn't sure if he wanted to eat but once he got started he realized that he was hungry and discovered that the light breakfast of eggs, bread roll and butter, fruit and a little French pastry were exactly what he needed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some more of the pain-killers that Annabel had given him the previous evening. He swallowed two with the last of the coffee and sat back to relax. He glanced out of the window and watched the fields far below roll by as he thought about the reason for his return home.

It seemed so long ago.

_The raucous laughter from the group at the back echoed loudly as they joked and messed around. A tall heavy-set lad with sandy-coloured hair and a face full of freckles threw a piece of paper across the bus. Mac turned round in his seat and smiled to himself. He bet that wouldn't happen once they arrived. Then he turned back to look at the papers he had grasped firmly in his hand. His acceptance papers. He was finally in the Marines, a day he had dreamed of all his life. He remembered the pride on his father's face and the worry on his mother's. He couldn't wait till they arrived for basic training. He looked out of the bus window as the green and golden fields rolled by._

"_They seem never ending don't they?" came a voice from behind him. "That's barley … and that's wheat. They'll be harvesting soon." Mac turned to look at the young man behind him. He had a sharp, angular face and dark deep set eyes that had a keen edge to them. His skin was tanned from time in the sun. His thin lips were drawn back in a smile. "You nervous?" Mac shook his head even though he was a little. "Nah, me neither." Mac smiled a little and looked at the young man intently. "Okay, well maybe a little ..."_

_Mac laughed. "We'll be fine." He hesitated for a moment and then stuck out his hand. "Mac Taylor."_

_The young man looked relieved and his smile broadened as he shook Mac's hand. "Joseph Alan Nash, my friends call me Joe. Pleased to meet ya' Mac."_

_._

Mac was pulled from his reverie as Annabel returned to take away his tray. Her smile broadened clearly pleased to see he'd eaten the breakfast. She stowed the tray table for him and asked if he'd like more coffee but he shook his head and she returned to the service area relieved that her passenger seemed much better. She had been worried when he'd arrived on board, he had looked so ill. Fortunately he had been allocated a seat at the front of the business-class section with no one next to him. She had been able to keep an eye on him. He had refused champagne but later he had sipped at a small whiskey which had seemed to bring a little colour to his cheeks. He had refused dinner and later she had brought him water and some pain-killers. After that he had slept. Once they had dimmed the lights, she had gently reclined his seat and thrown a blanket over him. As she reached across to pull down the blind she had noticed the mottled purple, yellow and green bruising on his fore-arms and around his wrists and the clear markings of a needle that had been inserted into the back of his hand. It had crossed her mind that he might be a fugitive or someone equally dangerous but she had dismissed it almost immediately. No one as polite or gentleman-like could possibly be a criminal. Even as ill as he had seemed he had been courteous and kind. Besides there was something in his eyes that said he was a good man. So she had switched out the light and let him sleep, popping back every so often to see if he was all right.

Annabel stood by the door as the passengers disembarked. He was the last to leave the section. He looked around him. He seemed wary. He smiled at her as he left and thanked her for her kindness. She wished him a good onward journey and spent a few moments watching him walk away wondering what had happened to the man in 14D that had left him exhausted, clearly in pain and with bruises on his wrists. She wondered too what awaited him. She hoped it would be better than what he'd left behind.

.

The man in the photograph was a lot younger than the picture taken at the wheel of the silver 2012 Impala. He seemed less threatening, his features softer, unburdened by years and experience.

"Joseph Alan Nash, born in Redville, a small community just south of Chicago, joined the Marines the same day as Mac. They served together until Beirut then their paths separated. According to this Nash suffered a non-combat related injury resulting in the amputation of two fingers on his left hand. He was assigned to a non-combat position but resigned his commission less than a year later." Jo and Stella didn't say anything. "After that nothing. And I mean nothing. It's like the guy fell off the map."

Stella was the first to recover her surprise. "Do you think they knew each other before that?"

Frank shook his head. "I don't think so. From what you told me Mac was a Chicago city boy. Nash was brought up on a farm. I think they met in the Marines."

"What does the report say about Nash?" asked Jo.

"Not a lot. Competent soldier, kept his nose clean, followed orders. No disciplinary issues if that's what you're asking. Seems I was right about him being a sniper though."

"Are you wondering what I'm wondering?" Stella looked at Jo.

"What's that?"

"That there might be something a little more to this."

Jo looked thoughtful for a moment. "Joseph Alan Nash ... huh ... Joe Nash … Jonas as he becomes … is asked by Jacob Lyle to plot the kidnapping of the Vice President ..."

"...who, by the way, has now safely completed his tour in our fair city and has flown off to pastures new non the wiser to the ruckus he has caused ..." Frank added making them both smile before Jo continued.

"... so Jonas must have known that Mac was assigned to the Marine Helicopter Squadron as part of Wild Card . Maybe Jonas was even part of the test ..."

Stella nodded in agreement. "But he didn't know the details of the plan..."

"...so he gets Elsa Rossi to get the information from Mac ..."

"...and while she's at it, he gets her to find out whether you've identified him from his fingerprints or DNA that he left at Kathleen Mortimer's crime scene."

"Two birds with one stone. Efficient." Jo looked unhappy.

"But then everything goes wrong. Elsa didn't ensure that Mac was dead so he was able to pass information to Adam..." Stella looked around. "Where is he by the way?"

"Oh the last time I saw him, he was tapping away at that computer of his in the cubicle next to Lacey and Gabriel." Frank gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. "So where does this leave us?"

"Well, both Jonas and Elsa Rossi are on the run but we now know that Jonas is really Joseph Alan Nash and Elsa Rossi is running under the name of Elysa Roussel. For some reason Mac is headed to Chicago … " Stella broke off. "... but he doesn't have anyone there that I know of any more. There's no reason he would go there unless ..."

"... unless he thinks that Nash is headed there but how would he know that?" Jo finished her phrase for her.

"Stella!" Lacey's strident voice echoed the length of the room. "Stella!"

Frank winced. "Gee … you wouldn't think anyone that small could be so loud." He dreaded to think what she'd be like once they were married. Once they were married. He couldn't help grinning to himself at the thought.

Jo arched an eyebrow and thought that loud was an appropriate adjective given the yellow shirt he was wearing. They all got up and headed back towards the conference table. They spotted Jeff Hamilton standing at the board that they had dedicated to Jonas. It was now covered with information he had gleaned from his Interpol contacts. He had also updated the Elsa Rossi board too. He nodded as they approached. "Walsh just called. The six mercenaries still aren't talking so they are proceeding with booking them on gun violations. So far they can't link them to Jonas but one of them, the Marine, who goes by the name of Martin Hoskins did serve at the same time as Nash but in a different unit. Although they would certainly have rubbed shoulders, there's no actual evidence to prove they know each other."

Stella nodded and thanked him as she turned to Lacey who was still furiously tapping at her keyboard. Gabriel March was standing at her shoulder speaking urgently. "No I just need you to check that she's still there. Do not approach her. Five- seven, slim build, short dark hair. She's recently broken her nose so look for some bruising. She was last seen wearing jeans, tight-fitting red top and had a brown leather bag … Are you sure?" He looked up at them his bright eyes sparkling with excitement. "... just keep an eye on her and let me know where she goes. Do not hang up." He put his hand over the mouthpiece. "We've got her!"

Lacey grabbed a print-out from the machine by her desk and held it out to Stella. "Got some hits on that credit card number your friend sent."

Jo looked over Stella's shoulder as they skimmed the list. "Airport or station …?" Jo broke off not quite understanding what she was seeing.

Stella looked at her astonished. "Coach! Clearly she likes to travel in style."

.

Adam's shoes slapped heavily against the smooth tiles as he ran full-pelt towards the departure gate. From the minute he had heard that Mac had gone A.W.O.L and that Jonas was actually Joseph Alan Nash, a former Marine like Mac, Adam had started his own line of enquiry. The first thing he'd done after checking the flight times from New Orleans to Chicago was dash back to his hotel to grab his stuff. After an heroic battle with his suitcase he had jumped in the first cab that he could find and headed straight for the airport. En route he had called an old friend or, at least, someone he now liked to think of as an old friend.

_If General Martin Schaeffer had been surprised to hear from Adam Ross, Mac's resident computer genius whom he had met when Mac had got himself in trouble rescuing his son Davy in Iraq, he had been even more surprised to hear the name Joseph Alan Nash. _

"_What has Mac got himself into now?"_

_Adam's voice sounded stressed and the general could tell he was on the move. "It's kind of complicated but basically it involves a plot to kidnap the Vice President."_

"_Good gracious!"_

"_General Schaeffer, we believe that the plot was masterminded by a man named Jonas who we now believe to be a former Marine called Joseph Alan Nash. We believe that he and Mac knew one another at some time. This man Jonas is on the run and Mac has suddenly headed to Chicago. Does that name mean anything to you? Is there anything you can tell me that can help me find them?"_

"_That's a name I haven't heard in a long while. Yes Nash and Mac served together. They were good friends at one time despite their differences. They joined up at the same time but had different specialities. Mac's strength was his leadership and his analytical ability. He was an infantryman and he was at his best leading his men on the front line. Nash was a different kettle of fish, more of a loner, not ideal in the military world but he was a good marksman which made him ideal as a sniper. After Beirut, Mac was assigned to a … er … a couple of one-off missions before taking charge of his own unit. Nash was assigned to the training of younger snipers and equipment testing and evaluation. It was then that there was an accident, some kind of gun jam caused a weapon to miss-fire and Nash ended up losing two fingers. I remember he left shortly after that. I also remember that there was some hostility between him and Mac towards the end but I couldn't tell you for sure exactly why though I rather suspect that it had something to do with jealousy. If Nash is this Jonas, Adam, don't underestimate him. He's a clever man."_

Adam sank gratefully into his seat. He glanced at the man next to him but the harassed looking business-man had already buried himself in pile of spreadsheets. He glanced at his watch glad to see that the plane was already pulling away from the stand. He would be about an hour behind Mac but he had pre-booked a rental and he knew that Mac was winging it. He prayed that Mac wouldn't kill him for tracking his credit cards and worse that Jo and Stella wouldn't kill him for disappearing leaving only a post-it note attached to the desk they had assigned him. He spent an unpleasant twenty minutes during take-off debating with himself which form of dressing-down would be worse - Mac or Stella and Jo - until the seat-belt light switched off and he was able to pull out his computer to start searching the information he had down-loaded before he had left.

As the computer sprung to life and the cursor flashed ominously at him, he came to a decision. _Stella and Jo. Definitely. Women are always scarier when they come in pairs._

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	20. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"Josephine!" Stella giggled as Jo shot her a dirty look. "Now focus!" Stella teased as Jo's eyes slid over the tempting array of silver jewellery under the glistening steel and glass display cabinets. Reluctantly Jo passed the by the stall to join Stella in front of Coach's window display admiring the range of elegant bags and accessories. Stella's eyes fell on a rather nice purse in leather and fabric. "Well at least she has taste."

Jo huffed. "I can't believe she actually came shopping."

Stella shrugged. "Well, she did lose her suitcase. She had to pick up a few essentials."

Jo didn't fail to pick-up on Stella's sarcastic tone. "Of course where every fugitive law-breaker goes when running from the police. Saks!" Stella smirked. Jo nodded at the window. "For her seven hundred and forty-six dollars she looks like she bought a rather nice hold-all and a new purse. She's already bought toiletries and shoes. The question is where has she gone now?" Jo pretended she wasn't jealous. There was no way she could afford to spend all that Elsa Rossi had in the past hour but then she didn't have a fake credit card with seemingly unlimited credit. Jo wasn't a shopaholic but she had to admit she did have a bit of a thing for lingerie and jewellery. Stella had owned up to being a self-confessed shoeaholic. Something that she had in common with Ellie. Jo thought about Stella's elegant selection and then idly wondered if she could get Stella to influence her teenage daughter's peculiar taste in footwear.

Stella's phoned buzzed. "Frank?"

Frank Mitford and Jeff Hamilton were standing in the high-tech security office with Denver, a cheery soul with fat round cheeks and a large moustache who was evidently rather fond of the doughnuts from the centre deli if the size of his belly and the smattering of sugar on his tie were anything to go by. Denver was excited; his normally boring job had just got a whole lot more interesting. Instead of watching for pickpockets or shop-lifters he had spent the past hour watching an international terrorist. He didn't know that international terrorists went shopping.

At first he had thought it was his colleague and long-time friend Oscar playing a trick on him but as he realized that the man on the phone was deadly serious he had applied himself to his cameras and tracked her throughout the mall. He decided that she definitely had a very suspicious air as she strolled from shop to shop buying bags, toiletries, shoes and clothes. He had panicked slightly thinking he had lost her in Saks but then he realized she must have spent time trying on the clothes she had bought. He pointed at one of the bank of screens in front of them. "That's her."

Frank lifted his phone. "Stella, she's coming out of Saks now and heading towards the lobby of the Westin." He pulled the phone away from his ear and spoke into a police band radio. "Team One. Target is entering the Westin from the south side. Remain in position. Team Two .Give her a minute and then secure the south entrance and await further instructions. All teams stay out of sight." Frank kept watching the screens. He swapped back to the phone. "Stella, she's carrying a stack of bags. Reckon she's been running up quite a bill on that fake credit card. I think she might actually be staying in the Westin." He waited while Stella relayed the information to Jo. On another screen he watched them both walk rapidly in the direction that Elsa Rossi had taken. "Okay she's reached the lobby … yep … she's heading for the lifts."

Jo and Stella entered the lobby and Jo waited watching the lifts while Stella rushed to the front desk and flashed her badge. There was a brief discussion with the flustered looking young woman who immediately reached for a phone. Stella rejoined Jo and after a few seconds a smart-looking young man in a grey suit and silk tie strode across to where they were standing.

"Detective Bonasera? I'm Travis Brent, hotel security. Jenny tells me there is a problem."

Stella pulled out her credentials and introduced Jo. "Mr Brent, we are currently concerned with one of your guests. She's staying here under the name of Elysa Rousseau. There are a number of warrants out for her arrest. She is armed and dangerous. We would like to arrest her as discretely as possible without endangering the lives of your other guests. We believe she has just returned to her room. It would be best if we could arrest her there."

Brent nodded scarcely able to believe that his hotel could harbour a person with a number of warrants to their name let alone one that was armed and dangerous but the serious demeanour of the two women in front of him left him in no doubt of the situation. He consulted his tablet. "Miss Rousseau is staying in an executive suite on the eighth floor." Stella glanced at Jo rolling her eyes as though say no surprise there. "The two suites either side are currently unoccupied. At least that's to say the key-cards are not placed in the holders in the rooms at present."

Jo smiled. "Perfect. Can you get us an access card to her room?" Brent nodded and trotted over to the front desk to speak with Jenny whose eyes were as round as saucers. As he returned with a card, they were joined by Frank.

"I've left Hamilton with the security guys to be our eyes. The teams are in place. Do you want them to move in?"

Brent's eyes bulged with horror. "SWAT teams? But we have a wedding party in the ballroom, and a Bar Mitzvah plus a Sweet Sixteen, and the bars and restaurants are in full swing. The hotel is packed this weekend."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "It's your call Stella." Stella and Jo looked at one another before nodding.

"We'll take her ourselves. Frank, call SWAT and get them to cover all the exits." Stella looked at Brent. "Is she in her room?"

He tapped at his tablet again and nodded. "The key card is in … oh … and she's just ordered room service."

"Room service?" Stella and Jo grinned as the same idea hit them at the same time. They both turned to look Frank up and down. "Perfect."

Frank stared at them for a second then it dawned on him what they were thinking. His face dropped. "Oh no, Stella! Not a bow tie!"

.

He quashed the guilty feelings and put on his sweetest smile as he handed over the piece of paper. The girl behind the desk looked at him as she took it. She was cute with curly hair and dimples. He had chosen her specifically hoping she was as sweet as she looked. "Thank you ..." She looked at the paper. "... Mr Ross. Driving licence and credit card please. Just for confirmation purposes," she added. Adam handed them over and she tapped away. He made a show of looking around and consulting his watch. He muttered to himself inaudibly. "Your car is ready and waiting. Lot A, space thirty-three." She picked out a white envelope with the keys and made to hand it to him. Adam tried to look as worried as possible. He discovered it wasn't actually that difficult. "Is something wrong Mr Ross?" she asked. Adam looked back at her noting her name on her badge.

"Oh no … thanks Grace." He gave her another smile as he took the keys. "It's just … I was rather hoping my boss was here but I guess I've missed him." He patted his computer bag. "Got something vital he needs to know before the presentation. It's a big deal. You know millions of dollars, jobs at stake," he whispered conspiratorially as he leaned across the desk. "He's only gone and forgotten to switch his phone back on after the flight."

"Oh dear!" She looked at him sympathetically.

"I just hope he doesn't start before I can get there. We're going to be in big trouble if he doesn't get this before the meeting." He looked at her and smiled again. "I don't suppose you can tell me what time he picked up his car. His name's Mac Taylor."

Grace looked a little unsure. "Well, I shouldn't really give out information ..." She looked at the man in front of her and his pleading eyes. She blushed a little. He was rather cute. " … I guess it wouldn't do any harm. Taylor with a y?" Adam nodded. He watched as her fingers moved steadily over the keyboard. "Yes, he picked up his car forty-five minutes ago."

"Oh damn … he must be miles ahead of me. How far do you suppose he could have got in that time?" Adam hoped he sounded innocent. He looked at her desperately.

Grace flashed him a tiny smile. "Well ..." She looked around before tapping at her keyboard. "... actually I can tell you exactly where he is … our cars are fitted with an emergency recovery system like a GPS tracking device."

Adam feigned surprise. "Really?" he asked looking impressed.

Grace blushed a little more. "Mm, look." Adam peered at the screen over the top of the desk. "See, he's on eighty-eight approaching Aurora. At this time of day you can be there in half an hour easily. If he doesn't drive too fast you might even be able to catch up with him."

Adam grinned. "Grace you are life-saver!" He winked at her making her blush even more, her dimples deepening. He grabbed the keys waving to her as he headed out to pick up his car. He threw his suitcase into the trunk and the rest onto the passenger seat. Quickly he opened his laptop and plugged in his hand-held tablet. "Okay boss, where the hell are you going?" He started the engine and headed out of the airport while the technology synced.

Grace was right. The traffic wasn't too bad as Adam headed out of the city. As he drew to a halt at a set of lights the computer bleeped. He unplugged the tablet and touched the screen. The little map filled the screen. "Four possibilities. Oh well could be worse." The lights changed. He put his foot on the accelerator and hit the road. If he was really lucky Mac would make a pit-stop and he would be able to make up time because one thing was sure. He may have let Elsa Rossi get past him but he sure as hell wasn't going to let Jonas do the same. A promise was a promise.

.

Jonas enjoyed driving long distances. It was so much better that being stuck with people in a plane or a train or a bus. Here he could turn up the music however loud he wanted, eat when he wanted, drink when he wanted, stop when he wanted. There was no one to ask him for tickets or sell him over-priced drinks, or force him into inane conversations. There was no one to invade his personal space. Here he was free to do what he wanted.

He had driven the Chevy as far as Memphis and then dumped it. He had picked a large mall and parked the car in a quiet corner, wiped it down, cracked the window down an inch and left it with the keys in the ignition hoping some dumb kid would steal it. He had eaten in the food-hall and then he had then caught a cab to a decent hotel, nothing too fancy but one that had room service and a bar. He had checked in under a pseudonym and spent the early part of the evening chatting up a woman in the bar, an average looking brunette with big eyes and an hour-glass figure. She hadn't been stunning but she had served her purpose. He smiled to himself as he turned up the radio on her Mercedes coupé. He had to admit that she had excellent taste in cars though he would have preferred something a little more discrete. Still beggars couldn't be choosers. It was comfortable. It had a great music system and it was fully tanked up. He could get a long way before he needed to fill it up again and more importantly before she woke. He glanced at his watch. With the dose he had given her he reckoned he had at least another four to five hours before she raised the alarm. Of course it could be longer than that by the time she realized where she was and that he had taken all her belongings including her clothes. He settled back in his seat keeping the needle on sixty and watched the fields roll by.


	21. Chapter 19

**A/N. Thanks tlh45 and smuffly!**

**Chapter 19**

Frank Mitford was not a happy man. He was dressed in hotel livery and pushing a cart down the long corridor towards suite 804. The collar of his shirt was strangling him. One of the main reasons he wore such outlandish shirts was that his head was attached directly to his shoulders by an enormous mass of muscle and connective tissue. Regular shirts didn't fit him and the few times in his life he had been forced to wear a tie he'd felt as though he was being strangled. This was one of those moments. He resisted the urge to pull at the collar and proceeded down the corridor at a steady pace. Everything was silent. A door at the far end opened suddenly. He didn't break pace but smiled at the mother and daughter politely. They hurried past him barely giving him a second look. They looked worried which, Frank thought, was not surprising since they had just received a call asking them to immediately vacate their room. They headed straight for the elevator where Jo was waiting for them.

Frank approached the door as Stella made an appearance from the emergency exit stairs at the far end. Her gun was firmly gripped in both hands, the barrel pointing at the floor. She nodded to him indicating that SWAT was covering the emergency exits, the elevators are been stopped and that Jo was in position behind him at the far end. He stopped at suite 804 and rapped on the door. "Room Service," he announced.

He waited.

There was no sound from inside. He rapped again. "Room Service." He glanced at Stella and then inserted the card he had been given in the slot. The light turned from red to green. He put one hand on the door and the other on his weapon that he had tucked in the back of his trousers under his waistcoat. He pushed the door open. "Room Service," he called once more.

Nothing.

Giving up all pretence he pulled his gun and advanced into the room. It looked like a whirlwind had passed through. Shopping bags of all shapes and sizes littered the floor. Their contents, however, were nowhere to be found. The closet doors stood open. Empty. Quickly he checked the bathroom. Frank swore under his breath and moved over to the window. He stepped through the doors onto the balcony pushing aside the curtains that were blowing gently in the breeze.

"Frank?"

He turned as he heard Stella's voice behind him. "Stella, she's gone down." He pulled at the bed sheet tied to the balcony railing. "Bitch!"

"Jo, she's gone down!" Stella yelled as she turned and headed for the emergency staircase ignoring Jo's look of surprise. Frank pulled out his radio. He stomped towards the door pulling off the infernal bow tie.

"SWAT teams, target is now on seventh floor. Repeat. Target is on seventh floor. Remain in position."

Stella pounded down the stairs. If she remembered the layout correctly, the seventh floor held two of the hotel's function rooms. There was a large lobby separating the two and both rooms had access to an outdoor terrace. The weather was perfect so guests would be circulating between the rooms and the terrace. She pulled open the emergency exit door and stepped into the room. Immediately she holstered her weapon as she found herself in the centre of the Bar Mitzvah. The room was heaving. People sat at tables chatting. Some stood listening in. Others were gathered in the centre of the room as there seemed to be some kind of presentation going on. The music combined with chatter was deafening. Small children in party outfits darted between the tables like multi-coloured fish in an aquarium. One table in particular was surrounded by a large number of people. They were all crowded eagerly around the family matriarch who was holding court, delivering words of divine wisdom to younger members of the family. Quickly Stella skirted the edge of the room trying to be as discrete as possible all the while looking for Elsa Rossi. She emerged onto the terrace and looked up. She could see a sheet dangling from the balcony. She ran over to it and looked up and then around at the terrace. A table for drinks stood against the railing. Squashed between it and the railing sat a small boy with an unruly mass of brown curly hair and freckles. He was wearing a suit that was slightly too large for him and his bow tie leaned at a peculiar angle. Clasped between his hands was a Game-boy.

"Hi there." The boy looked at her with clear blue eyes. "Did you see anyone come down that sheet?" What a ridiculous question, she thought to herself. However, the boy nodded without showing any surprise as his thumb continued to tap a button on the console. "Did you see where she went?" He pointed towards the doors further along the terrace. Stella smiled and was about to utter a thank you when a loud voice came from behind.

"Adam!" Stella turned around to see a woman in an outrageous hat and impossible high-heels come storming towards them. "There you are. I might have known you'd have your nose glued to that thing. Come along. It is time for the photographs."

The boy sighed and looked sorrowfully at Stella before getting up and slipping the console in his pocket. She gave him a sympathetic smile and headed in the direction he had indicated. _Okay that was weird!_ Her earpiece crackled with Frank's voice. "SWAT confirm she is still in the hotel. Repeat she has not left the hotel." Stella jogged over to the doors and entered the lobby. She spotted Jo at the far end looking as helpless as she felt. The two women met in the centre by a vast polished table with an enormous flower arrangement. If circumstances had been different they would both have stopped to admire the lavish display.

"Anything?" Jo asked. Stella shook her head. "She can't have disappeared. I just came through the Sweet Sixteen – nothing in there but a lot of giggling girls wearing too much make-up." Stella gave her an understanding look as Jo suppressed a shudder, hoping that Ellie wouldn't want anything like that but then she thought with a measure of reassurance, Ellie was the kind of girl who got excited by new soccer cleats.

"Where the hell can she have gone?" Stella looked towards the elevator doors."What's that door?"

Jo swivelled and looked at the door. If she remembered the layout rightly, on the floor above that door was a laundry store room. Both women made their way to the door. Jo grabbed the handle and pushed. It swung open revealing a large preparation area with carts, a long table crowded with dirty glasses and a huge pile of plates. And worse, another set of elevator doors. "Service elevator."

"Shit!" Stella grabbed her phone. "Brent, we think she's taken the service elevator from the seventh. Where does it go? … Okay … Ballroom and then directly to the kitchens." She looked at Jo. "Ballroom." She grabbed her radio. "Frank, get down to the kitchens." Their ear pieces crackled with his response. They both dashed for the stairs.

If Stella had thought that the Bar Mitzvah was busy, it was nothing compared to the wedding party. The dance floor was crowded. A string quartet had abandoned it's instruments on a small platform in favour of a DJ who was encouraging everyone to have a good time at the Copacabana. She wondered why they always played Barry Manilow at weddings. Instinctively Jo had moved off to her right as Stella moved left. They circled the party like lionesses circle a cornered prey. Elsa Rossi was there somewhere. Their eyes scanned very face. Young, old, happy, miserable.

Jo couldn't help wondering why some people looked miserable at weddings. Waiters wandered around with large trays of cake precariously balanced on their shoulders. The bridal couple were standing arm in arm chatting with a group at the far end of the room. Others were sitting at tables watching and drinking. Jo edged closer to the dance-floor. She peered closely at the couples dancing. The group of dancers parted momentarily and then their eyes met.

The DJ cleverly changed into Can't Smile Without You.

Jo's eyes widened. Elsa Rossi stared at her over her partner's shoulder, daring her, challenging her. What should she do? She couldn't draw her gun in a crowded room. Elsa's lips drew into a hard line across her face. It was an imitation of a smile, one that said. "Come and get me." As Jo took a step forward another dancing couple moved in front of them and Elsa merged once more into the crowd. Jo looked around frantically. She thought she caught a glimpse of Elsa's dark head moving across the dance floor. She skirted the edge of the dancers desperately hunting for her. She also cast a few quick glances around her but Stella was nowhere to be seen.

Jo dodged around a table filled with a large group of elderly, bored-looking men in pin-stripe suits. They looked at her, their heads barely moving but their eyes followed her warily. She smiled innocently but was painfully aware of her badge sitting on her belt and her holster on her hip. She was surprised that she hadn't drawn more attention.

As she backed away from the table she bumped into a large woman in an elegant cream suit with a vivid green scarf draped over one shoulder. She apologized. The woman didn't smile but nodded at the men in the pin-striped suits. "Look at them ..." She wept a dismissive hand towards them, her voice lilting with strongly accented English . "... sitting there. They look like a bunch of bloody Mafiosi." Jo arched an eyebrow. The woman did have a point. If it had been another time and place, Jo might have thought about arresting them on looks alone. The woman nudged her and smiled nodding at the bridal couple. "Look at my Maria. Isn't she beautiful?" Jo murmured something appropriate while trying to keep an eye on Elsa Rossi. "Pity, she marry a policeman but what can you do?" She threw her hands in the air. "She say she loves him." Jo stared at her in amazement. So that's why no one had said anything or paid her any attention. "Have you had cake?"

"Huh?" Jo looked at her blankly.

"Oh you must have cake. It is a special recipe. My cousin, he is descended from the family who make cake for the Holy Father." She grabbed Jo's arm and pulled her towards a waiter serving cake to a table at the edge of the dance floor. "Waiter..." The man turned round, his tray full of generous slices of cake.

Suddenly to their right there was a small scuffle and a woman screamed. Jo caught a glimpse of a mass of golden curls in the crowd of dancers. The dancers parted and less than three feet away, Elsa Rossi appeared stumbling away from a man who looked baffled at suddenly being dumped by his partner in the middle of a dance. The crowd parted faster than the Red Sea in front of Moses revealing Stella one hand outstretched in warning, the other menacingly on the gun at her hip. Elsa was scrabbling in her purse. It didn't take Jo a moment's thought to guess for what.

"Elsa Rossi, stop right there!"

Elsa spun round to face Jo, her eyes flashing with a wild hatred that stopped Jo's heart. Without thinking, Jo reached out a hand and whipped a plate from the tray. With two swift strides she slammed it into Elsa Rossi's face sending her staggering back. Elsa tripped on the metal runner where carpet met dance floor and landed in a heap with a strangled scream. Her purse fell from her hand, her gun skittering across the floor to land at Stella's feet. Stella placed her foot firmly on it. She looked down at Elsa in amazement and then back at Jo.

Stella's face was a picture. "Well Jo, I have to admit it. You've got style." They both looked at the woman on the floor who was clawing at her face to remove the chocolate and cream.

"Che diavolo sta succedendo?"

Jo turned to face the mother of the bride whose face was as astonished as the crowd of on-lookers. "Gate-crashers. Don't you just hate them?"

The woman considered for the question for a moment and then shrugged and nodded nonchalantly. "Sí"

.

**(A/N: And thus Elsa Rossi gets her just desserts! Get it? Just desserts? Oh come on! 5/10 for effort?)**

.


	22. Chapter 20

**A/N. Thanks tlh45, smuffly and guest for so patiently reading and reviewing! And apologies to tlh45 for having the girls get Elsa but I thought they deserved the collar after she got away in Rogue Element. And apologies to guest - here is some Adam and ... (Mahala cowers behing keyboard!)  
**

**Chapter 20**

Adam Ross wondered for the twentieth time exactly what he was doing there. The runny-nosed child sniffed loudly as he stood looking up at Adam clearly wondering what he was doing there. Adam tried not to look at him and in particular the large drip of water, shed epithelial cells, dead leukocytes, dead bacteria, mucin, and inorganic salts that hung from his nose. Even thinking about the chemical composition didn't help him to feel less sick.

"Mar...shall?" The heavy-set woman wiped her hands on her denim dungarees and yelled loudly making Adam jump. Her strident voice echoed across the farmyard. The kid just stood there staring at him. Adam wondered whether he ought to offer the kid a tissue but he thought, by the looks of him, the little brat had never seen a face-cloth in his life let alone a tissue. The kid wiped his nose on his sleeve. Yup, thought Adam. "Mar...shall?" Adam winced as her voice set his teeth on edge. The Marshall in question made an appearance. Adam gulped and his eyes went wide as he stared at the double-barrel shot-gun hooked over one arm. "You ever 'eard of Silverbrook farm?"

"Silverbrook farm?" Marshall managed to draw out the name for almost a minute. "Weren't that what they used to call old Pa' Nash's place?"

"Oh! I think you're right. Well, this 'ere fella's lookin' for it?" She gestured to Adam. The kid continued to stare at him oblivious to the offensive drip forming under this nose. Adam sniffed hoping the kid would take the hint. He didn't.

Marshall was a huge man, all of a piece as some would say. The wooden steps of the veranda that fronted the house creaked painfully under his weight as he rocked his bulk down the stairs. Adam put him at at least two hundred and forty pounds. Two hundred and forty pounds of solid muscle with a double-barrel shot-gun. Adam swallowed nervously.

"Well you'll have trouble finding it now." Marshall walked slowly towards them on legs as thick as tree trunks. "It were sold off years ago. Split up, like. Them Potters took top fields." The latter statement was directed at his wife.

"Doesn't surprise me. Thieving bastards!" The look on her face left Adam in doubt of her opinion of the Potters whoever they were.

"I reckon all that's left is the house and the stables. Don't recall 'em selling that." He scratched his grizzled chin. "There might be a bit'o land left. They 'ad some nice grazing near the lake but don't know if anyone lives there now. Old Pa Nash has been dead … must be fifteen years. Maybe even twenty."

"Actually … er … I'm looking for his son … er well, I think he's his son .. er … Joseph Alan Nash?" Adam cursed himself as he stammered out his request thinking it wasn't a good idea to look nervous in front of two hundred and forty pounds of solid muscle with a double-barrel shot-gun.

"Joseph Alan Nash?" he repeated slowly. Marshall's face suddenly lit up like someone had switched a light on. "Oh little Joe? Don't reckon I've seen 'im since old Pa Nash's funeral. Joined the army ... or was it the Marines?" He broke into a broad grin. "He's probably a general by now."

Adam gulped. If only he knew the truth. He turned as Marshall's wife waved a plump hand at her husband. "Do you reckon he kept the place on after the old fella passed? But they don't call it Silverbrook no more. There is a house called Woodlands or summat like that near there. No one I knows ever been there though they do say that's where Myrtle works."

Adam didn't fail to miss the look on Marshall's face at the mention of Myrtle. "Myrtle?" he asked immediately regretting it.

"Oh … I'd avoid her if I were you," she said in a low voice, her eyes wide and full of meaning. "She 'ain't right in the head that one! They say she murdered her husband." She leaned closer "Burnt him to death in his own bed." Adam gulped. The kid sniffed.

"Oh … er … right!"

Marshall slapped about fifty pounds around Adam's shoulders and spun him round. He gestured with the gun. Adam hoped it wasn't loaded. "Head back out that way. Turn left and drive for about ten miles until you come to an old grain silo. There's a right turning. Follow that until you get to the trees. You can't miss it. The old house is at the other side. You can't get lost. That road don't go nowhere. It's a dead end."

"Right. Great. Thanks very much." Adam put on his best smile. _Silo. Right. Dead end. Got it._

"You're not from round 'ere are you son?"

"Er … no." _Was that the right answer to give two hundred and forty pounds of solid muscle with a double-barrel shot-gun?_

Marshall nodded and slapped Adam on the back. "I can tell." Adam felt like he'd been hit with a sledgehammer. "You take care now."

Adam thanked them and made his way back to his car as quickly as possible without actually running. He glanced in the mirror as he pulled away. They were stood there waving. At least Mrs Marshall was. Marshall was holding the gun in the air which could have been loosely interpreted as waving though to Adam's mind it could easily have been with the intention of making sure he was leaving. The kid was wiping his nose on his sleeve.

He slowed as he came to the end of the track where it met the main road. He paused as a sleek black coupé went past and then he pulled out. At least he had made some progress. He didn't now need to find the last farm on his short-list. Once he had heard that Mac was heading to Chicago he had put all the parameters into the search list. The address that Joseph Alan Nash had given when he signed up for the Marines. Farms that had stables or grazing for horses as the hair that Jo and Stella had found in the show flat in New Orleans had turned out to be horsehair. Put that together with traces of saddle soap and the general direction that Mac had taken which he had tricked out of the lovely Grace from the car rental .. he felt another twinge of guilt … and he had made a leap of faith that Mac somehow knew that Jonas still had the old family farm or at least, if Marshall was to be believed, only what was left of it.

Adam cruised up the road. He didn't know whether Mac was ahead of him or behind him. Had Mac followed the same method or did he know that Jonas still had a house? The big question of course was what was he going to do when he got there? He glanced down at the phone that was recharging in it's cradle. Call for backup? What was he going to say?_ Hi, this is Adam Ross. I'm a humble lab rat from the New York Crime lab. I need you to come and rescue my boss who is recovering from kidnap and torture before flying half way round the world to single-handedly take on a former Marine sniper with a penchant for kidnapping people including the Vice President of the United States?_ He didn't know about Myrtle not being right in the head. Anyone taking that call would think he was.

Adam glanced at the mileage and peered into the distance. He could just make out the straight-sided shape of a building that could be the grain silo. He squinted. It was getting late in the day and he was driving into the setting sun. The object loomed larger. It was the silo so the right-hand turning should be just after … Adam's thought processes stalled. He blinked and eased his foot off the accelerator. The black coupé that he had let go past earlier had already made the turn and was now moving along the horizon to his right. What was it Marshall had said? "_You can't get lost. That road don't go nowhere. It's a dead end._" Why would that car be turning down there? It wasn't Mac. He was driving a silver Chevrolet Cruze like his. He had seen the model pop up on screen when Grace had accessed the on-board GPS tracker. _Myrtle? Would a 'not-quite-right-in-the-head' husband-murdering cleaner drive a black Mercedes coupé? Jonas! It had to be. Shit!_

_What to do?_ If Adam followed he risked being spotted. The fields on either side stretched for miles in an almost flat sea of gold and green. One flash of sun off the wind-shield and Adam would give himself away. He slowed as he reached the silo and pulled his car to the side of the road in the shadow of the now-abandoned building. Adam picked up his tablet and consulted his map. _What to do?_

.

Jonas eased off on the gas and peered through his rear-view mirror and then in the wing mirror. He had noted the silver Chevrolet Cruze turning out of Marshall Winston's place. It had followed him at a steady pace. He checked the mirrors again. The car had stopped near the silo. Jonas wasn't the kind of man to be of a nervous disposition but he was a cautious man. He had to be in his line of business. Get as much intel as possible, double-check, triple-check, trust no one, were his motto's. He relaxed a little as the car moved off and continued up the main road. He watched it for a short distance and then pressed his foot to the accelerator. Probably just a travelling salesman or a farm rep. He had been driving non-stop and he was in need of a break. The stiffness in his knees and the dull ache in the base of spine told him that. One more mile and he would be home.

Home. It was a strange notion to him. He spent most of time living in hotels, motels, other people's apartments and other less comfortable accommodation. He lived out of the old brown leather bag that sat on the passenger seat of the Mercedes. Between jobs he came back here mainly because he had nowhere else to go. The house had been in his family for three generations. After leaving the Marines he had signed up with a group of mercenaries finally able to put his skills to use but he'd hadn't liked taking orders. So when the group's leader had been killed in an attempt to rescue an African chief's son from a rival warlord, Joseph Alan Nash, Joe Nash had become Jonas. He took the reins of the little group, disposed of the dissenters, surrounded himself with men he could trust and discovered that there was a nice little niche market in kidnapping and ransom. He had sold off the fields around the family home allowing him to fund his first job. the proceeds from which paid for the modifications to the house and stables. It turned out to be a rather lucrative line of business. And if there was one thing that Jonas liked, it was money. It could buy anything.

Jonas drove steadily along the road between the fields of ripening wheat on his right and the rich green fields of wild mustard his neighbour had sown for natural fertilizer while they lay fallow. His closest neighbour, if he could call him that, was Marshall Winston, ten miles away. The Potter's and the Bright's were even further. He approached the stand of trees that used to be a large sprawling patch of woodland until his father had whittled it down in the fifties to enlarge the fields around it. Now there was only about an acre that sat on a gentle incline that led to the house and the lake beyond. The car bounced along as the asphalt gave way to a rougher stone and gravel surface that led into the trees. Jonas blinked as he drove into the gloom, the setting sun now hidden behind the stand of trees. Tiny shafts of golden sunlight occasionally broke their way through the branches but not enough to dispel the gloom of the wood. It seemed as though the car felt the darkness too as the automatic headlights switched themselves on.

After a few minutes the trees began to thin and the car emerged into a large gravelled turning space in front of a low house with a long veranda whose burnished woodwork shone with a rich honey tones in the evening light. A modern double garage had been added onto one side of the L-shaped house to match the stables at the other. Jonas pulled up and shut off the engine. He got out of the car and stretched. He would have to get Myrtle to help him get rid of the car tomorrow. He noted that the curtains were open and that a small curl of smoke hung lazily over the chimney. He wasn't worried. He had called Myrtle to let her know of his return and get him some food in. She must have lit a fire for him too though that was hardly necessary given the warm weather. For some strange reason she always assumed that he was cold. Still she was useful. She didn't talk to anyone mainly because no one would talk to her and he paid her handsomely to keep house for him and keep her mouth shut.

He pulled his bag from the passenger seat and slammed the door not bothering to lock it. In a few strides he crossed to the veranda, bounded up the stairs and inserted his key into the lock. Much to his surprise, it wouldn't turn. He tutted to himself. How often did he have to remind Myrtle to lock the door. He pushed it open, threw the keys into the bowl on the shelf beside the door and kicked the door shut. He dropped his bag in the hall. He only managed two paces into the living room before he stopped dead in his tracks.

The man seated in the huge leather armchair by the fireplace didn't move a muscle. His body language gave the impression that this was an everyday occurrence. His legs clad in black denim were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. His elbows were propped on the arms of the chair with a glass of bourbon in one hand balanced on the armrest. His face showed no reaction to Jonas' presence. He merely regarded him with a slightly detached amusement as though looking at a curiosity in a pawn shop window.

"Hello Joe … or should I call you Jonas now?"

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	23. Chapter 21

**A/N. Thanks once again for so patiently reading and reviewing! Almost there!  
**

**Chapter 21**

Joseph Alan Nash gave a short laugh almost like a dog's bark. "Well I must say, you look pretty good for a dead man." He forced himself to stroll calmly over to the ornately carved drinks cabinet and pull the stopper from the decanter. He poured himself a double shot as he tried to cover his surprise and gather his thoughts.

"I'm afraid, Elsa's little cocktail didn't quite do the trick." Mac's voice was low and heavy with repressed anger. "I take it you put her up to that little stunt?"

Jonas turned round and raised his glass in salute noting that Mac didn't return the gesture. He took a long pull at the liquid savouring the fiery bite as the bourbon slid down his throat. "Yes, I thought it was quite inspired really. I'd had the plan worked out for some time but as you always used to say, you can't have too much intel. I knew you had to be the expert on the topic of security for M2 even if it may have been a little outdated."

"But you also had to know if we had your prints and DNA in the Kathleen Mortimer murder?"

Jonas gave a dismissive shake of his head. "Yes, I should have been wary of taking on a new hire without having Elsa verify his credentials. She was a little occupied at the time. Something to do with some forum. I instructed him to clean up but he turned out to be rather … inefficient and left behind evidence. I had to let him go," he finished ominously. He threw Mac a pointed look that left Mac in no doubt what had happened to the hired help. Jonas gave Mac an oily smile as he took another mouthful of bourbon.

Mac swirled the liquid slowly in his glass but didn't drink. "I take it your latest job didn't turn out too well either?" Mac couldn't quite keep the self-satisfied tone from his voice. He was rewarded with a look of irritation that passed over Jonas' face. Mac thought to himself that he must get all the details from Adam. The combined force of Stella and Jo plus the FBI and Interpol must make quite the after dinner story. And if there was one thing Mac was sure of, a dinner would be the least he could do to thank Adam for everything he had done.

Mac watched as Jonas idly wandered over to the fireplace, threw back the rest of the bourbon and placed his glass on the mantle-piece as he looked down into the flames. "Why Joe?" Both of them knew that Mac wasn't asking why the kidnap attempt had failed but why Joseph Alan Nash had become Jonas.

Mac was startled as the man he had once considered a friend looked up at him. It was not the sneer on his lips or the anger that flashed in his eyes. It was his words, hard and bitter. "You betrayed me."

Mac's lips began to form the word 'what' but Jonas continued without hesitation. "If it hadn't have been for me you would have met your maker in Beirut." He nodded at Mac. "Does it still hurt?" Unconsciously Mac lifted a hand to his chest where the blue-grey material hid the scar that would have ended his life if the bullet had come but an inch closer. "Because this does." Jonas raised his hand and splayed out his fingers as though designating the number three. Mac could see the mass of pink scar tissue that had once been his fingers. "Not here!" He waved his hand. "But here." He thumped his chest. "You betrayed me."

Mac's face creased in confusion. "What? It was an accident. They said it was an accident."

"Yeah, they said. But you wouldn't know would you? Because you weren't there." Jonas' face was suffused with wrath as he spat out the words. "You left the unit to run off on your … god-knows-what … oh-so-important … secret missions for the colonel without a by-your-leave. Me I get stuck with training and eval. And then when you come back … and a Captain to boot … you've got your own god-damned Recon unit and you hadn't even considered me for your team. Rejected because of this!" He held up his hand again.

Mac was stunned at the outpouring of venom. "I didn't … I didn't reject you."

"No, you didn't even consider me. I was a good sniper. One of the best. But because of the accident and the loss of my fingers – two lousy fingers – not even on my trigger hand - you didn't even think about taking me on. Did you? Did you?" Jonas' voice rose in pitch with every word, his shoulders shaking as he ground out every stuttering sentence.

Mac hesitated as a flicker of guilt passed through him. The words hit home because the truth was he hadn't for a moment ever considered Joe Nash as a member of his Recon unit. He had been offered the best and he had taken the best but Joe's name wasn't on that list. Mac swallowed. Joe was right. He hadn't even contemplated taking Joe on as a member of his team. Finally he answered, "No. You're right. I didn't." Jonas was taken aback as he had expected Mac to deny it. For a moment both men looked at one another a gulf yawning between them. But rather than Mac's words diffusing his anger he felt it grow. Mac saw it. "You were a good sniper. That's why they gave you the training and eval role." Jonas snorted in disgust. "Joe, you could have made a good career."

"A good career? I didn't join up to make a good career. I joined up to serve my country and honour my father and you took that away from me."

It was at that moment Mac felt betrayed. Not by the accusation in Jonas' words nor by the lack of truth in those words but because they weren't Jonas' words. They were his.

.

_The first weeks of boot camp had been sheer hell. The four men staggered into the bar like men coming across a lush green oasis in a burning desert. They made straight for the bar. "Four beers please," the tallest and most heavy set of the men requested of the barman. Doug almost laughed as he surveyed the four young Marines before him. Clearly this was their first weekend pass. Their first taste of the freedom after the gruelling weeks of drills, exercises and training. They looked exhausted and elated and shell-shocked but most of all they looked desperate for a drink. Their tongues were practically hanging out of their mouths like a pack of mongrel dogs on a hot day as Doug slowly poured the light golden liquid into the ice cold glasses. He was surprised they didn't just grab the glasses out his hand and pour it down their throats in one long gulp. _

_The first young man paid, handing over a crumpled pile of dollar bills. Doug nodded his thanks and counted the money into the register as he watched them troop over to a table carrying their precious load. They sat and looked at one another before looking reverently at the ice-cold beer. Then one of the group, the darkest and most intense looking of the four raised his glass and said something in a low voice. Doug couldn't make out the words but it made his comrades smile. They raised their glasses and joined in the toast and drank clearly savouring every golden drop. Doug could practically feel the sighs of satisfaction vibrate across the bar. They weren't the first group of recruits to enter his bar in search of liquid gold and they wouldn't be the last. _

_Lance who had paid the first round, nudged his friend, and tipped his sandy-coloured head towards the bar. Grant, a confident young African American from the south side of Chicago huffed amicably and gathered up the glasses and went to fetch the next round. "I thought I would never make it this far." Lance shook his head just relieved at being able to sit and relax without having to think of roll-call or the next day's duties or whatever torture their drill instructor had in mind for them. "A whole day off."_

"_Yeah well we had better make the most of it. It's going to be the only one for a long while."_

_Lance rolled his light blue eyes and rubbed at his freckle-covered face with his hand. "Thanks for reminding us Joe," he grumbled. They all watched as Grant came back with the second round. Lance picked up the beer. "To the Grim Reaper!" he announced with a cheeky grin. The four men sniggered._

"_Don't let him hear you call him that or he'll have you scrubbing the head with a toothbrush ..." Grant smirked "... between your teeth!" The four men groaned. Little did they know but Senior Drill Instructor Jim Reaper was proud of his nickname. He even went as far as cultivating the rumours about himself. It was his job to turn these young men into Marines and it wasn't a duty that he took lightly and a little fear went a long way. "I'm tellin' ya he knows what you're thinking all of the time. One wrong thought and you find yourself kissing the ground." The look on Grant's face made them all laugh. He had a very expressive face and it was easy to read every thought that passed through his head. No wonder the drill instructor's favourite phrase had become. "Grant, give me fifty now." The young Marine was fast becoming the king of the push-ups. "Makes me wonder why I joined up in the first place?"_

_Lance looked at his friend. "Why did you join up?"_

"_'Cos you did!"Grant smirked. "'And 'cos I know chicks dig the uniform." He threw a cocky grin at a girl sitting at the bar who was pretending not to look at them. She blushed. "And let's face it … I look GOOD!" The four men laughed. The worst thing was it was true. Grant was handsome with a bright open face and a ready smile. Lance shook his head in amusement. "What about you Joe?"_

_Joe shrugged. "Dunno really. I kinda' fell into it. I didn't know what I wanted to do and the recruiter who came to the career's fair at school painted a pretty good picture. Steady money, board and lodging. No actual fighting. I'm mean we're at peace now aren't we? Better than staying on the farm. Lots of opportunities, places to go … to get away ..."_

_Lance nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah .. I know what you mean … to get away." One thing for sure was that Lance wanted to get away from home. That was something he didn't want to think about. "What about you Mac?"_

_Mac looked up from his beer. He didn't hesitate for a second. "I joined up to serve my country and to honour my father." The conviction in his voice was so strong that the others were taken aback for a moment but then they thought about it and the man behind the words. They smiled and the four friends raised their glasses once more._

.

Adam Ross wondered for the twentieth time exactly what he was doing there. He wafted at the cloud of midges that had decided to follow him round thinking he would make the perfect snack. As he tramped across the dusty field in the fading light he felt a sudden close affinity to "Pig-Pen", Charlie Brown's long-suffering friend who only had to step outside his house to become instantaneously dirty, whereupon he would declare to Charlie Brown, "You know what I am? I'm a dust magnet!" The dust rose in little clouds every time he put his foot down and his sneakers were unrecognisable and had bits of dried straw and grass stuck to them.

Adam gritted his teeth and doggedly marched towards the house. It hadn't seemed as far on Google maps. He adjusted the backpack on his shoulders. He was beginning to regret having stuffed his laptop, tablet, cell phone, camera various cables and chargers and his important documents into his back-pack but he hadn't wanted to take the risk of leaving them in the car. At least the land was sloping gently downward towards a small inviting looking lake that appeared to be fed by a bubbling stream. Under any other circumstances he would have taken a moment to appreciate the countryside bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. By comparison the house that was the object of his impromptu hike looked dark and sinister hidden amongst the trees. A small flash of light caught Adam's attention. He peered into into the dusk. He could just make out a white curl of smoke rising from the chimney. Again a flicker at the window caught his eye. He stopped and looked harder blinking his eyes. It almost seemed as though … _no_! The smoke that he thought had been coming from the chimney was coming from the roof, the light from the window not from a lamp but from flames. The house was on fire. _Myrtle!_

Adam broke into a run.

.


	24. Chapter 22

**A/N. Thanks once again for so patiently reading and reviewing!  
**

**Chapter 22**

Mac Taylor regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. "That's bullshit and you know it. You don't know the meaning of the word honour." He was so incensed that he hadn't realized that he had risen from the chair until a sharp pain flashed in his side but he had no opportunity to pause for breath as Jonas launched himself at him. The glass fell from his hand onto the hearth as they tumbled backwards onto the armchair.

Jonas went straight for Mac's throat, his roughened hands clamping painfully around his neck. Mac pushed a hand up between Jonas' arms to break the lock. He clamped his hand over his face and dug his fingers into Jonas' cheeks. He pushed up against his chin forcing Jonas' head to tip painfully backwards. As he did so his free hand stretched out to the table by the chair. His fingers grasped around a small brass figurine. He lifted it and swung it as hard as he could but his restricted movement only allowed his a glancing blow. However it was enough to force his adversary to loosen his grip. Mac managed to get both arms in to break the choke-hold and with an almighty shove Jonas flew backward to land on the hearthrug knocking over a the fireside set. The tools crashed to the floor. Jonas' eyes glinted as he pushed the tools out of the way to grasp at the handle of the steel poker. He scrambled to his feet raising the poker in both hands high above his head like an executioner with his axe.

Mac knew what he was going to do and without thinking threw himself to one side rolling off the chair and onto the wooden floor with a jolt just as the poker came crashing down onto the leather with a loud smack. Jonas roared with frustration at his miss and hefted the implement for another swing turning as he did so to aim at the man on the floor. Mac looked up. The poker swung down towards him. He rolled right just as it hit the floor with a resounding crack then back again looping his left arm over the fire iron before Jonas could lift it again. Mac drew up a leg and kicked with all his might. The resulting grunt of pain confirmed his suspicion that he had caught Jonas on the knee.

Relinquishing his weapon Jonas staggered back knocking into the table which sent a lamp crashing to the floor near the fire. Mac scrambled to his feet and backed away heaving in a great breath while Jonas recovered his balance. For a few moments they both drew breath eyeing each other like gladiators in an arena. Mac knew that at that moment he should have tried to stop it, tried to talk to Jonas, to Joe, to the man he had once called his friend but something primal took over, some deep-seated instinct that told him that this was the final round.

.

_Captain Martin Schaeffer, Marty to his friends, stood silently in the background watching the young men locked in hand-to-hand combat as their comrades looked on shouting their encouragement. When he got the opportunity he liked to observe the new recruits to try to spot those with potential just as his commanding officer had with him. After a ferocious battle to gain the upper hand the taller of the two, a sandy-haired man with a mass of freckles floored the other and their drill instructor called the end. Schaeffer nodded his approval. Both men passed muster. _

_The drill instructor called for the next pair. "Final round. Taylor, Nash. You're up." Schaeffer watched two men peel away from the crowd and face one another in the centre of the bull-pen. He could tell they were friends by the half-smiles they gave one another. They were well matched, both of a similar height and weight, both dark-haired though one had a more angular face and cold eyes where the other bore an intense look, his body language exuding a more confidant stance than his opponent. Schaeffer watched as the instructor raised a hand between them ready to give them the go ahead. "Last chance Nash," he muttered causing the young man to redden. Schaeffer frowned, not at the instructor's words but at the expression that passed across the other man's face. Taylor, the instructor had called him. Captain Martin Schaeffer watched the fight with interest._

_Later after the men had been dismissed and Schaeffer had compared notes with the drill instructor he retired to an office. He sat at the desk and picked up the file and glanced through it. He read the application form and the the various evaluations which were, to say the least, impressive. Good physical fitness, a more than competent marksman, strong leadership skills, highly motivated, intelligent with definite leaning towards science subjects, and an above average combat water survival score with a recommendation for upgrade. Interesting. There was a knock at the door. "Enter." The door opened and the young man from the last fight entered saluting smartly. "Close the door." The young man turned and closed the door and returned to attention in front of the desk. Schaeffer leaned back into the chair with his elbows propped on the wooden arms and his fingers laced together in front of him contemplating the man stood before him. He didn't say anything. Everything about the young man facing him proved his strength of character. He wasn't afraid or intimidated as many others would have been when suddenly called to appear in front of an unknown commanding officer. He didn't fidget or betray any hint of nervousness but Schaeffer could tell he was wary, unsure of why he was there yet confident that he had done nothing wrong. Schaeffer had noted his eyes flick around the room taking in every detail. He felt sure that, if he should ask him, the young Marine could tell him every item in the office. "I have read your file," he began. "Your conduct has been exemplary." A tiny twitch of a smile at the corner of the young man's mouth was the only reaction but Schaeffer could see the pride in the young man's face. He had given his all and the compliment was justified. "However ..." Captain Martin Schaeffer stood and walked round the desk. He leaned his head in close. "...if I ever see you throw another fight again I will cut off your balls and nail them to the highest flag-post." The colour drained from the young recruit's face. "Do I make myself entirely clear?" he spat._

"_Yessir."_

_Schaeffer studied the young man as his mouth opened and closed not sure whether he should defend his actions or not. He softened his tone."I realize that you were trying to help your friend. But, son, he has to get through on his own merit." A flicker of worry crossed the younger man's face. "He will get through though only just. Take a word of advice. He may be your friend but you are a Marine first and foremost and your loyalty is to the Corps. Believe me when I say your paths lie along very different roads." The young man nodded a little too quickly. His only show of nervousness. "Dismissed." Martin Schaeffer was impressed by the speed with which the young recruit left. He smiled to himself as he returned to his desk and picked up the file once more. He would request that Mac Taylor be assigned to his unit after graduation. If his worst sin was loyalty to his friends then that was one he could live with._

.

They both looked at the poker on the floor. Jonas made his move first but Mac wasn't far behind. Both men threw themselves on the implement clawing for a grip that would give them the upper hand. As Jonas finally managed to get a firm grip Mac switched tactics and threw a well aimed punch at his kidneys. Jonas roared in pain and, once more abandoning the poker, he bucked his body up throwing Mac off while landing an elbow to his solar plexus in the process. Mac's vision went black for a moment as pain engulfed his senses but some part of his brain that still functioned brought his arms up into a defensive posture as Jonas lunged for the poker and brought it in a roundhouse swing to land on Mac's left arm. There was a sickening crunch and Mac couldn't help shouting out in pain, a low, almost subhuman moan as he felt the bone snap in two.

Jonas stood looking down at the man clutching at his arm in agony at his feet. Finally he had beaten him. He felt a surge of triumph flood through him as he stood gloating in his moment of victory. He breathed in and out deeply but something caught at the back of his throat and he began to cough. He had been so taken up with beating his opponent that he hadn't noticed the lamp that had fallen too close to the hearth. The overloaded fire greedy to escape the confines of the grate licked at the material that smouldered and then caught light. The fire reached out to the rug beneath and the alcohol that had soaked into it blackening the crystal glass as it lapped up every last drop. The fire surged running along the carpet to the wooden floor beyond. The flames licked at the underside of the chair, the age-old brittle material catching easily spreading the blaze upward into the bone-dry stuffing that burned with a black bitter acrid smoke.

Jonas dragged his eyes away from Mac as he realized what was happening. His eyes widened as he saw the flames outside the safety of the hearth. Panicking he hesitated taking a step or two towards them looking desperately for something to put them out with but he knew it was useless. The flames headed along the floor suddenly seeming to leap at the drapes like the claws of a fearsome monster. Within seconds they were engulfed in flames that spread upwards curling along the ceiling forcing the paint to blister and peel. The smoke was billowing thicker than ever as the fire consumed the chairs eating them away from the inside. He had to get out now. He suddenly realized that he still had the poker in his hand.

As the pain in his arm began to subside Mac fought desperately to gain mastery over his body. Through sheer willpower he urged his battered body up as he struggled to sit. As his vision cleared he too realized that a fire had started. The smoke pricked at his throat and stung his eyes. He coughed making a pain rip through his side and stomach. He forced himself up into a kneeling position. As he lifted a leg to put one foot on the floor he looked up to see the flames run along the wooden floorboards and engulf the curtains at the windows. They had to get out. "Joe? Get out. Quickly."

Jonas turned around, his eyes moving slowly from the poker in his hands to the face of the man in front of him. Mac looked him in the eyes and he knew, in that instant, that he would never leave that room for the only thing he could see in Jonas' eyes was death. His own.

.

Adam thought that his lungs were on fire as he pounded across the grassy field. What he wouldn't have given for a drink from that cool bubbling brook that he had splashed through earlier. But he didn't stop. His feet slithered on the grassy slope as he dragged himself towards the house. He could see the flames at the window. He prayed that he was wrong and that there was no one in the house but he knew Mac was there. He knew that each of his footsteps had taken the exact same route that Mac had taken earlier. He had been sure of this the minute he had left the silo, driven five miles up the road and taken a farm track between two fields. Mac's rental had been parked by a small stand of trees as Adam had pulled his own vehicle up beside it. Clearly Mac had decided against driving up to the house directly too. As Adam staggered the last few yards towards the house he was impressed by his boss' stamina. He was absolutely exhausted. In his mind he knew it was only a couple of miles but it had felt like twenty.

Adam ran up to the small door at the back of the property and peered through the glass. It looked like the kitchen. He tried the handle but it was locked. Looking around he spotted a wood pile near the house. He ran over, selected a smaller piece of wood and returned to the door. He looked through the glass once more and then jabbed the end of the log at the glass. It broke easily, the pieces of glass making tiny tinkling sounds against the tiled floor inside. He knocked out the glass, threw away the wood and stuck his hand through. He twisted the knob at the other side and tried the handle once more. It still wouldn't budge.

"Oh come on. This always works in the movies." Adam gave the door another push with his shoulder but it still wouldn't move. He stuck his arm back in and felt around. His hand travelled upward. He felt a bolt. "Come on. Come on." He finally managed to pull the bolt back and the door flew open. Adam fell into the kitchen. The smell of smoke hit him immediately. He looked around. The room looked bare. A refrigerator sat humming quietly in one corner and there was a new-looking microwave on the side. The row of frying pans hung above the stove looked unused as did the stove itself. There were no other signs of life, no discarded cups or plates. No fruit or cookies or mugs of coffee. Nothing to indicate it was someone's home. He made for the door that stood ajar on the other side of the room. He looked out into a dark hallway that had an outer door at the far end. A brown leather holdall sat on the floor. Smoke billowed from the doors to his left. Adam took a hesitant step towards to the nearest door and peered through.

It looked like a scene from a science-fiction painting, its protagonists frozen in an image of fire and flame, one man kneeling in front of a demon king, his arms clutched across his chest as though accepting his fate. Adam thought his heart would stop as one of the men slowly and deliberately raised his blackened sword above his head, his face distorted with rage as though preparing to mete out his terrible punishment on his helpless victim.

Adam didn't stop to think what he was doing but whirled around and stepped back into the kitchen grabbing the first thing that came to hand. With a scream worthy of a barbarian warrior Adam crossed the corridor in two strides, rushed at Jonas and swung with all his might. Taken totally by surprise Jonas was unprepared for the sudden attack. He flew backwards landing on the hearthrug amidst the flames that were slowly eating away at the wooden house. The weakened floor cracked under his weight, a sudden draft forcing the flames higher. They licked greedily at his clothing.

Adam ignored him and grabbed a handful of shirt pulling Mac to his feet ignoring the protests. "We have to go now." An ominous creak echoed through the structure like a warning of what was to come. Adam yanked at Mac who with his last ounce of strength pulled himself to his feet. Together they staggered to the doorway, Adam leading the way out through the kitchen across the back porch and down onto the grass away towards the lake.

They were almost at the edge of the lake when Mac's strength gave out and he collapsed to the ground and rolled onto his back, his eyes tightly closed as he tried to fight back the pain. For a few minutes he just concentrated on breathing which began to ease as he gulped in the cool evening air. The sun, only a distant red glow on the horizon, was now surpassed by the flames that had taken hold of the structure in front of them. Adam looked back at the house but had to duck as a sudden explosion from an unknown fuel source deep inside the house caused a mass of flame and smoke to rise up high into the air, small projectiles showering the ground around them. Adam reckoned it would be seen for miles. No need then to call out the fire department. He dropped to the ground beside his boss, his knees drawn up. He leaned his head on his knees for a moment to catch his breath, his relief overwhelming as he listened to Mac's ragged breaths beside him.

He had no idea how long he had sat there when suddenly there was a strange noise that sounded almost like a laugh. He looked up to see Mac who had turned his head to look at him and who was now looking him up and down with a smile on his lips though his eyes were full of pain. "You know you should have been named Sam."

Adam looked at Mac and then at himself. He was covered in dust and if Mac's face was anything to go by he suspected his own was also streaked with soot. His clothes hung on him and he looked dishevelled. He knew his hair was a mess. He plucked idly at a bit of straw caught in the laces of his sneaker and then gave up as they were covered in dry grass giving him the impression of hairy feet. It was then that he realized what Mac meant. His jaw dropped.

Adam lifted his head and glared at his boss. "Seriously? I come all this way to save your sorry ass and you have the audacity to compare me to a Hobbit?"

Strangely this made Mac grin all the more. His laugh turned into a wince, "Sorry … but it's the back-pack and the frying pan that did it." Adam looked at the object in question only then realizing he was still gripping the cast -iron skillet from Jonas' kitchen firmly in one hand.

Adam glared at Mac again. "You know, I'm beginning to regret loaning you that book. I suppose you left it back in Paris. You know when you made your escape from that hospital..." Adam felt a moment of smug satisfaction as Mac looked slightly guilty but it passed quickly as he come to the conclusion that by the look of him that was where his boss looked like he needed to be.

"It was more like a prison," Mac huffed. Mac eyed the large, heavy looking pack clearly wondering what Adam had found necessary to bring with him. "What is in that backpack anyway?"

Adam tried to look nonchalant as he tossed the frying pan over his shoulder. "Just my laptop … and my tablet … and my cell phone." Mac arched an eyebrow. "A couple of chargers ... spare batteries … and a cable or two," he confessed.

Mac lay back on the cool grass and looked up at the sky. "So all the essentials for a good commando style raid huh?"

Adam shrugged. "Er … yeah."

"Thank you Adam."

Adam turned to look at the man lying next to him. The depth of feeling in those three words and the look on Mac's face took his breath away. "You're welcome." Adam smiled. He had kept his promise. Then a thought struck him. "Why are holding your arm like that?"

"Oh … er … I broke it when I got hit with a poker. Don't suppose you've got any duct tape in that back-pack of yours?" Adam looked at Mac with a disbelieving expression. "No? Okay I guess I'll have to make do with an HDMI cable. Can you find me something to make a splint while I try to reset it?"

Adam stared at his boss for a moment then raised his eyes heavenward and sank his head between his knees in despair. "What am I going to do with you?"

.


	25. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Jo and Stella quietly sipped their coffees as they watched through the two-way mirror. "I think the natural look suits her," quipped Jo.

"Mm." Stella's face lit up with a cheeky smile. "You're right. Orange really is her colour."

Elsa Rossi sat bolt upright in the hard chair in the stiff orange prisoner's uniform, her hands cuffed in front of her. Her face, now devoid of make-up as well as the remnants of the wedding cake, was as hard as stone. Her hair hung limply either side of her face. She didn't move as the door opened and a man entered. Nor did she acknowledge his presence. He walked up to the table, put down a pile of files, a notepad and a pen before slipping off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair. She looked at him wondering who he was. He didn't look like much of an interrogator. In fact with that tie he looked more like a used car salesman.

"Ms Rossi, I am Jeff Hamilton, US Law Enforcement Liaison Officer with Interpol." Elsa lifted an eyebrow clearly not impressed. "I understand from my colleagues here that you do not wish to make a statement without a lawyer being present. This is quite understandable given the gravity of the charges against you." He smiled. Elsa ignored him. "However, I was rather hoping that you could help me out with a ..." He pressed his lips together as he searched for a word "... well … not exactly a problem. More of a dilemma or a quandary. A predicament you might say." Elsa was tempted to roll her eyes. _What a buffoon!_

Stella frowned. "Tell me again why we're letting him conduct this interview."

Jo smiled. "Patience Stella. Looks can be deceiving," she answered cryptically.

Jeff Hamilton leaned back in his chair screwing up his face as though faced with a difficult math problem. "You see the thing is … everybody wants a piece of you." He smiled. "In fact, I'm tempted to chop you up in pieces and send them each a little morsel to keep them happy. But obviously I can't do that."

Stella looked sideways at Jo. "Patience Stella."

"Now I could leave you here in New Orleans to answer for your part in the plot to kidnap the Vice President and for the firearms offences related to the wounding of an FBI officer not to mention breaking and entering and credit card fraud." Elsa didn't respond. She wasn't worried. There was nothing to tie her to the attack and a good lawyer would get the gun charges reduced and she could easily find something to sway the judge.

"Or I could send you back to New York to answer for your part in the Forum's plot to blow up the New York Exhibition and Conference centre." Elsa tried to look bored. Hamilton picked up one of the files pretending to consult it.

"Of course, as a British citizen the Metropolitan Police are very keen to get their hands on you." Still no reaction. Elsa appeared to be looking at her hands as though trying to decide whether she liked the shade of nail polish. He slapped the file down on the table. He picked up another one.

"The Italians have contacted me too. They present a good case as do the French. A certain Bruno Lefebvre has asked for your extradition ..." A flicker of something passed across Elsa's face. "...in matters concerning the kidnap, torture and … attempted ... murder of a US Citizen while sojourning in Paris." Elsa's head shot up.

"Mm. Well that got a reaction," muttered Stella.

"Oh don't worry, the best is yet to come." Stella looked at Jo curiously. Clearly she knew something she didn't.

"Ah, I see that got your attention. Yes I happy to say Detective Taylor is alive and well and … er … currently tracking down your friend Jonas." All three observers were delighted to see a look of utter astonishment pass across Elsa's face. However their delight was short-lived. Elsa's face transformed into a smile but not one of happiness.

"So he survived? I'm glad," she purred. She leaned forward slightly, her lips parted as she closed her eyes for a brief moment as though reliving a particularly pleasurable event. Then she looked up at Hamilton but her eyes were focussed on the mirror behind him. "Tell him I'll look forward to our next meeting. Our last one was so … stimulating!"

Jo felt the urge to march in there and wipe the smile of her face. Stella's thought's were along the same lines though a little more aggressive. If they could have seen Jeff Hamilton's face they would have seen an expression of utter disgust. He slapped the file down ignoring Elsa's look of satisfaction. And picked up the last one. _Time to go in for the kill._

He opened it and without looking at her said. "No, I think perhaps I should let our Israeli friends have you." For the first time Jo and Stella saw Elsa falter. She shuffled slightly in her chair. Her lips parted and her eyes widened. "It says here they want to question you with regard to some espionage charges. I hear their newest penitentiary is quite … state-of-the-art. I think you'll find it impressive. And … er …." Jeff Hamilton looked up. "... at least there'll be someone there that you know." Jo and Stella were surprised to see Elsa's face take on a worried expression. "I hear that Ulrika Masi has recently began her life sentence there. You do remember Ulrike don't you Elsa? I'm sure she remembers you. Perhaps we can arrange for you to share a cell?"

Elsa turned white. The blood literally drained from her face. She swallowed visibly. "You can't do that," she breathed.

"Who the hell is Ulrike Masi?" whispered Stella.

Jo shrugged. "No idea. But clearly she scares the shit out of Elsa."

Elsa stared at the man opposite her in horror. "You can't..."

Jeff Hamilton leaned forward. When he spoke his voice was cold as ice. "Oh but I can. Just think about it: one less problem for our judicial system; all the money they'll save on your trial and incarceration. Won't be difficult to get you deported seeing you entered this country on a false passport and I'm sure that the powers that be will happily get rid of you to the first country that requests your extradition. And it all depends on which file I put at the top of the pile." He tapped the last file with a finger.

Elsa Rossi's mask dropped. Her eyes glittered with hatred and his shoulders quivered with barely suppressed anger. "You son of a bitch!" Jeff Hamilton smiled.

Jo looked at Stella who appeared highly amused by the drama being played out before her. "Told you looks can be deceptive."

"What do you want?" hissed Elsa.

Hamilton pushed the paper and pen towards her. "I want everything you know on one Joseph Alan Nash aka Jonas. I want a full statement including all the names of those involved in the plot to kidnap the Vice President. And I want a full statement regarding the kidnapping and torture of Detective Mac Taylor including the names of your accomplices and how you obtained the drugs."

Elsa looked at him and then at the pen and paper. "In return?"

"Prison of your choice." Elsa's eyebrow's lifted in disbelief. "Oh you're going to prison. Make no mistake about it. It's just a question of where," he said ominously. For a moment neither of them moved then Elsa reached out and picked up the pen.

.

Jo felt the coffee return with a vengeance as she read through the last of Elsa's statements. Judging by the look on her face Stella felt just as sick. She swallowed heavily as she put down the file. "Well I guess with that list of names these statements will make a lot of people happy."

Stella nodded. "I'll have to get a copy to Nico. I'm sure he will be happy to add another arrest to his long list." Stella was right. Within hours of receiving the statement, Nico Pereire would walk into a nondescript little shop nestled in a side-street tucked away from the main tourist area of Marseille and arrest one Jacques Cortelli, antiquarian by day, seller of illicit drugs and pharmaceuticals by night. Nico would be particularly happy to gift-wrap him and hand him over to the 'stups'. Of course he would vehemently deny that there was any rivalry between the drug squad and his own team but he knew that it wouldn't be him buying drinks for the rest of the month.

They both looked up as a loud rap came at the door. Frank Mitford stuck his head in. He had a phone clamped to his ear. "I'll tell them. Thanks." He hung up and shoved the phone in a pocket. "That's our friend Walsh from the FBI. They've raided Jacob Lyle's place. Got him in custody. They're found evidence of sexual abuse of minors, bribery, corruption of state officials. I could go on. With Elsa's statement and Arthur Wescott's the charges are piling up. Mr Lyle will be going away for a very long time."

"That's great," Stella smiled.

"He passes on his thanks to you both and especially wanted me to thank Adam. Speaking of whom, have either of you seen him? He seems to have disappeared."

Stella and Jo exchanged looks of irritation.

"What?" Frank looked at them, his head swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

"Adam left us a note to say..." began Stella.

"... that he has flown to Chicago..."

"... and hired a car..."

"...evidently with the intention of tracking down Mac ..."

"...who clearly thinks he knows where Jonas is..."

"...though how he knows is anyone's guess..."

"...I'm beginning to think that Mac is ..."

""...a bad influence?"

"Tell me about it!"

"Whoa! Whoa!" Frank waved his arms in the air. "Will you two please cut that out? I'm getting neck ache." He rolled his eyes. "Jeez. You're worse than Lacey and her sister." Frank almost shot out of his skin as the small tornado that was his future wife came hurtling through the door, with Gabriel March hot on her heels.

"You have got to see this." Lacey grabbed at the remote on Stella's desk and aimed it at the TV in the corner. The screen sprang to life with a bubbly looking presenter talking rapidly into the camera. She was standing in a field with the smouldering remains of a house in the background. Dozens of onlookers were scattered over the field. The breaking news banner flashed across the bottom of the screen.

"_...as you can see behind me the house has been completely destroyed. The fire raged all night as firemen battled to get it under control. A spokesman for the fire department has confirmed that the house contained large amounts of explosive material rendering the scene particularly dangerous. It seems that there may have been a large cache of weapons and ammunition in the house. Neighbours reported seeing a multitude of explosions._"

The camera cut to a picture of a woman in denim dungarees standing in front of a huge man in jeans and checked shirt. Strangely the man appeared to have a shotgun over one arm. A small boy stood behind them wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"_We could see it from 'ere couldn't we Marshall? Like a firework display. It went on for hours. Lit up the whole sky." _A reporter off camera asked if they knew the owner. _"No, kept to himself. A bit of a recluse. Not quite all there if you ask me. Funnily enough there was a young fella 'ere asking for him yesterday. Do hope he wasn't hurt. Seemed like a nice boy. Not from round 'ere._"

The camera cut quickly back to the reporter at the scene.

"_Police have confirmed one fatality most likely the owner of the property, a Joseph Alan Nash. They have also said that there are two other men currently helping with their enquiries but neither are suspected of being involved in the fire that destroyed this home._"

The channel returned to the studio and a report on the latest Hollywood scandal. Lacey clicked the off switch.

"Two other men?" asked Jo.

Stella sighed. "It doesn't take a genius to guess who."

Frank looked pleased. "Well that's that then." The three women looked at him. "Jonas … dead. His accomplices in holding. Jacob Lyle and Arthur Wescott in the hands of the FBI and Elsa Rossi on her way to prison."

"Did she decide where she wanted to go to prison?" asked Lacey.

"France," answered Stella. "Apparently the food's better." Her voice was heavily laced with sarcasm.

"I can't believe she's getting off that easily." Lacey crossed her arms with a little shake of the shoulders as she always did when she was irritated about something.

"Oh I wouldn't say that!" Jo addressed the assembled company. "Just think about how much pressure will be put on the French authorities to ensure that she answers for her crimes in other countries. I'm sure someone will talk them into extraditing her … oh … to London … or Tel Aviv." Their smiles matched hers. Jo got up. "Well it was a pleasure working with you all but I must be getting back to New York. Can't leave the children alone for too much longer."

Stella smiled and got up to embrace her friend. "The pleasure was all ours Jo. It was good to see you again. Be sure to say hi to everyone for me. Let me know when Mac and Adam get back."

Jo nodded. "Oh I will," she assured her though she was wondering when exactly that was going to be and why they hadn't heard from either of them.

.

The old jukebox sat discretely in the corner of the bar churning out a quiet country and western song. Adam looked around the bar with it's polished wood, red upholstery and a collection of Peanuts cartoon on one wall. Appropriate, he thought. It was altogether cosy and gave off a nice vibe. He glanced at the table with its two glasses of ice-cold beer, a bowl of chips and the two cell phones sitting there accusingly. "We ought to call."

"Mm. Mm."

Adam reached for his beer, took an appreciative sip and replaced the glass. "The County PD were pretty accommodating really all things considered."

"Mm. Mm."

"Though I must say it was pretty damned lucky that the guy in charge turned out to be a former Marine."

"Mm. Mm."

Adam turned to look at Mac who was showing the tiniest of smiles. He had to all intents and purposes looked as though he were sleeping but Adam knew that he was merely trying to relax and handle the pain having refused to take more pain-killers after having his arm set at the local infirmary. "You knew that though, didn't you?"

"Mm. Mm." Mac's smile widened a little.

"Just like you knew the owner of this bar?" Adam nodded in the direction of the hefty looking barman with a crop of greying sandy hair and sun-reddened cheeks. "Lance, you said his name was?"

"Mm. Mm." Mac's smile widened a little more and he opened his eyes that sparkled with secret amusement.

They both reached for their beers. Adam gave a small laugh. "You called them before you left Paris. That's how you knew where to find Jonas."

"Mm. Mm." Mac nodded.

Adam sipped at the beer. "How exactly did you get in the house if you don't mind me asking?"

Mac shrugged. "The door was open. There was an old woman inside dusting. She let me in." He thought for a moment. "Strange really," he said to himself.

Adam looked at him. "Who was she?"

"Said her name was Myra. No, Myriam … no."

"Myrtle?" The beer slopped from side to side as Adam stared at Mac.

Mac shifted uncomfortably not wanting to admit his arm was hurting but he smiled. "Myrtle, that's it. Nice woman." Adam's eyes grew rounder. "She invited me in, made me a drink and lit a fire for me in case I was cold. Strange thing was she didn't even ask why I was there. Just told me she was going to get groceries for supper. I guess she must have mistaken me for someone else." Mac leaned to one side, stuck a hand in his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper showing it to Adam. "Which reminds me she said she runs a boarding house in the next town. Perhaps we can find rooms there for tonight?"

Much to Mac's surprise Adam gave a sudden strangled noise as he grabbed the piece of paper. "Not such a good idea boss." He grabbed his smart-phone. "I'll see if I can find us a motel..." He looked sideways at Mac. "...without husband-murdering cleaners," he muttered as he tapped at the screen.

Mac looked nonplussed. "Huh?" Then a thought struck him. "By the way how exactly did you know know where to find me?"

Adam hesitated, his finger poised over the phone. "Er … well I … er … when Bruno called me and told me you'd flown to Chicago, I cross-checked Joseph Alan Nash's file with the evidence from the Jo and Stella had collected … and … er … by the way did you know he built his plan of attack out of Lego?"

Mac's face registered disbelief. "Lego?"

"Yeah it was awesome. There was this model of the school where they were going to plan the attack. It even had a helicopter and all the little figurines and ..."

"Adam!"

Adam stopped in mid sentence and glanced at his boss who was giving him the look. He sighed. It had been a nice try. "Okay … I tracked your credit cards and sweet talked the girl at the car rental to telling me where you were headed."

Mac nodded and raised his glass clearly impressed. "I should have known." He chuckled to himself. "You really are the most surprising of ..."

"Oh no!" Adam waved a hand stopping Mac. "No, no, no! No more Hobbit references." Mac looked surprised and was about to protest that the thought hadn't even crossed his mind when Adam continued, "Don't think I've forgotten that or that you left my favourite book in Paris. Samwise Gamgee indeed." Then he grinned a cheeky grin. "So does that make you Frodo?"

Mac smirked, sipped his beer and replaced it on the mat. "I'll have you know that I wasn't going to quote the Lord of the Rings." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Though if I had I should certainly have said that …" He frowned as he tried to recall the passage. "... it was said to me that I should find friendship upon the way, secret and unlooked for. Certainly I looked for no such friendship as you have shown. To have found it turns great evil to good."

Adam's cheeks coloured deeply at the compliment. "Frodo to Faramir," he muttered.

Mac nodded scrunching up his face as though contemplating something. "Though I see myself more as Aragorn."

Adam rolled his eyes. _Typical._ "So does that make Jo and Stella, Arwen and Éowyn?" Adam was astonished to see Mac blush a deep red and give a nervous chuckle but he wisely didn't answer. Adam nodded at the cell phones. "We ought to call."

"Mm. Mm."

They both looked at one another and then reached for their beers, sipped and replaced the glasses. "Think they're going to give us an earful?"

"Mm. Mm."

"That's what I thought."Adam sighed as he stared around the little bar of which they were the only patrons. "It's not exactly Paris is it?"

Mac thought about it for a second and then conceded. "No it's not.." Then he added, "You know next year the conference is in Madrid? I know this fantastic Tapas bar ..."

"Mac! Don't even think about it!"

**THE END**

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**IT IS VERY MUCH APPRECIATED.**


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